


Excess Fame

by AceDhampir



Category: Alan Wake (Video Game), Max Payne - All Media Types, Max Payne - Fandom, Remedy Crossover
Genre: Fluff, M/M, domestic AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-24
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-08-16 23:46:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8122261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceDhampir/pseuds/AceDhampir
Summary: Alan Wake is a famous writer who's hiding from the media after his divorce made headlines. His current problem, however is the introduction of his muse for Alex Casey, Max Payne, back in his life. Somehow, the two find themselves comfortable in a world that's cold and unloving.Domestic Remedy is an AU tying together the Worlds of Alan Wake and Max Payne. This work is cowritten.





	1. Chapter 1

New York City.  
Life has never been normal for anyone stupid enough to call this place home, whether permanently or temporarily. And curveballs are what keep the world going around. The biggest of all in the life of Max Payne was the loss of his family. A wife and a baby daughter, killed in his own home while he was at work. He got home moments too late. If he'd rushed upstairs faster, he might have saved them. That is the kind of thing that haunts a man.  
Detective Payne quit the force and went to work for the DEA under deep cover for a while. It is in this state that he anonymously was a source for an author looking for insider information to make a novel more realistic. They had coffee. Max was pleased with the bluntness of Mr. Wake- Alan. But that was the end of that for years.  
Back on the force, Payne served another several years before the death of a hitman named Mona Sax, someone he had been romantically involved with. Torn up and tired, Max was considering retiring altogether and falling into despair when Alan walked back into his life. The younger man, a famous, rich, and respected author, had asked him to get dinner. It didn't seem like a date.  
It was a date.

Some time has passed. They're not technically engaged, but they're living together, Alan's writer's block a burden and Max's feelings of inferiority on relying so heavily on his younger partner make him feel useless. But they persist anyway. They talk about these issues. They're known.  
Life's not bad, despite their weird-ass neighbor, the one they share a balcony with. Mr. Scratch. Weird name. Weird man.

Max has the day off. It's mandatory as he undergoes psych screening. Given the trauma he's been through, he's required to undergo a round of testing every year for a week. He is bored, testy, and tired, sprawled on the couch in his usual attire, the worn leather coat still on.

 

The tip tap of a typewriter is heard almost constantly, mostly to cover a page with the words “Stupid” and “boring”, followed by the sounds of paper being ripped in half. Return isn’t getting anywhere. Sudden Stop was it, inspired by a man Alan had met years ago, but now after killing off the character he has no idea what to do. The book is barely a third done. He has a manuscript, a timeline, but nothing seems to be flowing in the right places.

He’s grown irritated with writer’s block. Every scene every character, and every event has been ungodly terrible. He’s trying to hard to do SOMETHING, and lucky for him he has enough disposable income to keep himself afloat. Between the alimony checks and the rent, he still has enough left over for food and paying for insurance, which he’s sure someone has to appreciate. He’s just bored, tired, and unable to keep his attention on a new book long enough to focus. Either way, Sudden Stop is still bringing in money. Departure, not so much.

Eventually, he gives up and heads out of his office to eye the man sprawled on the couch. He doesn’t know if he’s asleep or not. Having him around has been interesting, even enough to get him to at least write a paragraph a day. His ex wife is encouraging but he can’t seem to bring himself to do more with her or with Max’s presence. He’s just stressed. Maybe just a little depressed.

“Are you going to sleep all day?” He asks suddenly, raising an eyebrow.

 

"Not if you interrupt me." Max cracks an eye open before sitting up with a grunt. He was once slim and fit, able to leap around on rooftops after gangsters like nobody's business. He's gained some weight, but he's also getting older. Those seem to go hand in hand. He's handsome, though, and it isn't hard to see the appeal. He's still a plainclothes detective and still as active on the job as always, much to the consternation of his colleagues. He doesn't really have friends anymore. They're all dead. He should be, too. He's got bullet wounds to prove it- a scar on the side of his head from one he took there- and SURVIVED- a nasty one on his right arm, and plenty of other small marks.

His painkiller addiction is a struggle for both of them. The alcohol is, too. He's trying, but he just keep slipping. Right now, he's sober and clean for the sake of the testing, and it is causing him to be sluggish and depressed even more.

 

Alan is a good ten years younger than he is. It makes them a sort of odd couple, but Alan doesn’t seem to really care. He moves for the couch and sits, rubbing his eye and groaning. He wants to just go to sleep and end the day, but he’s forced himself to stay awake. He doesn’t say anything for a few moments, just eyes Payne with a sort of tired look.

“I’m bored,” he admits rather quickly, apparently saying it aloud for the both of them. He knows how Payne gets, but he doesn’t really seem invested in forcing him. Alan’s got a few problems himself, not as pronounced, no, but a couple of drinks before bed helps him sleep. He keeps having the same nightmares over and over again, and it’s getting irritating. He’s tired of it.

“Do you wanna go out?” Might as well ask. He doesn’t like being outside too much, people recognize him or follow him home, he’s still getting into the media about his divorce. He’s tired of seeing his face on magazines about it. He’s tired as well of the rumors that Alan Wake was gay all this time and is secretly holding a herald of twinks. That’s a little off.

 

That's more than a little off. He's got an older detective boyfriend who feels awful having to ask for monetary help from time to time, even though they are LIVING together.  
"Sure. Maybe we could get coffee." Standard, but they both live off of it. New Yorkers, born and bred, the both of them. "I need to drop some letters in the mail on the way down, anyway." Payne writes by hand only. Old school. He stands up with a groan, one of his knees popping nearly obscenely as he does so.

 

He says nothing but grabs his coat, slinging it over his shoulders and straightening it out. Alan’s obsession with wearing several layers at once, even in hot weather, is more than a little concerning. He just likes it that way. The coat his has on is long and black, matching the beard he’s grown out in his boredom. He opens the door, waiting for the old man to waddle on over.  
“Do you need a brace?” He means for his knees. Those were rather loud. Locking the apartment, he makes sure that strange neighbor of his isn’t around before he moves down the stairs, hoping to avoid everyone else as well. He’s so...anti social.

 

"No." He would never accept that unless it was his last option. He can still shootdodge like a pro. There's also the simple matter of him having goddamn superpowers, something Alan has figured out but wisely kept quiet about. The painkillers give him ridiculous abilities. It makes no sense, but it has kept him alive. His focus and strength is as incredible as his aim and ability to survive falls.  
He follows behind Alan after grabbing a couple envelopes from a mail holder by the door. Hopefully Alan takes the elevator. He doesn't feel like twelve flights of stairs today.

 

“Coffee. Usual place?” The past usual places have started to notice he’s there. He just wishes he could go one place where he doesn’t get recognized. He’s maybe just a little jealous Payne doesn’t have this problem. It’s Alan’s fault. Anyway.  
He heads for the elevator, peering in first before moving inside. He keeps a lot of strange things with him, mostly the flashlight, several flares, something inside him has him paranoid. He pushes the buttons and waits, then looks to Payne.  
“Sorry I’ve been so busy,” he apologizes softly. “I’m not even really doing anything,” the voice mails left by Barry on the answering machine are proof enough of that. “I’ve been avoid my responsibilities,” again.

 

Max steps into the elevator and waits, hands at his sides. He's always carrying a piece, even when off duty. He has guns stashed all over their apartment. This isn't like Alan's revolver. No, this is heavy stuff, some of which is barely legal. He's the one that helped Alan go shooting for book research back in the day, too, so this is not a surprise.  
"No. No, it's not a problem until Barry shows up and won't go away. He reminds me of these two I knew back in 2001. I had to listen to so many horrible puns. Payne to the Max...Payne in the Butt..." He summarily killed them both.

 

Barry showing up is probably the worst thing to happen right now. Alan’s not doing anything he needs to, and now that Barry is done with that Old God’s of Asgard thing, now it’s back to pestering Alan and his current relationship, I. E., Payne.  
“He’ll show up., You know he will. He’ll bring the new cut out for Return,” the book isn’t even done but Alice has already gotten the covers done and the design for a new display cut out. And of course, it’ll pop up everywhere again and everyone will know about it. Alan isn’t happy. The elevator dings, bringing them to their final stop. Alan’s Sedan is in the garage, waiting for the two to step inside.

 

"Don't remind me." His dry tone is as biting as always. No wonder he has a hard time making friends. He heads for the sedan and opens the passenger door, dropping in with a huff. "Just go to the bus station. Traffic is going to be awful and you won't be able to park. We'll walk from there."

"I hate the bus," He's complaining. He sits in the driver's seat and sighs, pulling out and heading for the depot. It's not that far, just too far to walk.  
"I haven't asked. How are the evals?" Small talk for now. He doesn't see a need for bigger conversations at the moment.

 

"You've lived in New York for HOW long and you think you can just drive?" Max will tease him endlessly about that. Driving is basically not possible. The subway is the only viable option. "All we're doing is dropping the car off and walking. Stop whining." Settling into place, he waits as Alan winds himself out of the parking garage, which goes quite a few stories beneath the surface of the city above. Once finally out, traffic is nothing short of hell. It will take about half an hour to get that far, and it is only a couple miles.  
"They're...going." That's not positive.

  
"Are you sure it's what you wanna do?" He asks, concerned. Hell, Alan doesn't know what he wants to do anymore. He feels like a terrible writer.

 

Looking like friends works for the two of them. Max doesn't push for more. Hell, he doesn't really want it. What they do when alone is their business and nobody else's. If the media decides they're roommates, it's fine by him. He doesn't care. He meets the hand and entwines his fingers with those of the writer, fond of the subtle touches and out of sight affection between them.  
"It's all I can do. All I've ever wanted to do. If I give that up, I'm giving up."

 

I'm just concerned. That's all," he replies, distracted a moment by his phone. "Get that, will you? Text Barry I'm driving,"  
He knows it's Barry. He's switched services over the years, from Verizon to Sprint. Barry managed to find his personal number to bother him at every hour of the day.

 

Max unlocks Alan's phone and answers it rather than texting.  
"He's driving, Barry."  
"Max! Hey, Max, I need-"  
"Goodbye." He hangs up, sets the phone down, and turns on the radio to the sound of Poets of the Fall.

 

"Thank you," That's why he drives, it's an excuse not to be on his phone. Not because he doesn't want to talk to...okay, it's totally because he doesn't want to talk to Barry.  
"I've told him to text me. Whatever he needed better not have been important."

 

"If it is I'll tell him to fuck off and deal with it myself instead." Yikes. Max is as bitter as usual, it seems. "I don't trust him, Alan. I know he's your best friend, but all it would take is him blabbing to the press and we're in the spotlight."

 

"Barry knows better," so Alan hopes. "The divorce is still in the news. He knows how I feel about publicity. I don't need more right now," if Barry ever wants Return finished, then he'd know better. "I don't know why you dont like him so much," How he doesn't know is the real surprise

 

"He reminds me of people I've known." That's all he's going to say. Max falls quiet, watching traffic pass them by as they move. The bus station is finally in sight. All Alan has to do is pull in and park now. The place they like is just five blocks away, and there's a mailbox he can drop the letters in on the way, too.

 

He pulls into the parking lot. Glad the parking is free at least, but he's still grumbling. His phone rings again and he shuts it off, not in the mood for Barry right now. "I think we should have waited in traffic," is he insane? He looks somewhat displeased, mostly at his constantly ringing phone and with this walk. He eventually shuts it off and shoves it in his pocket, huffing out air at the fact that he's complaining again. He's trying to curb those habits, but then and again they pop out. "What we're you mailing anyway?"

 

"Copies of records. There's a journalism student at NYU doing a master's thesis on the Valkyr case. I agreed to help." How uncharacteristically kind. Max slips on sunglasses and keeps moving.

 

"Valkyr," he repeats, distracted by someone snapping his photo. He gives them a deep scowl, annoyed with any and all candidates. Maybe he should move out of New York. Millions of people and he's always spotted and singled out. He draws up his coat collar and keeps moving. "Have they put you on anything yet?" He's making small talk to pass the time.

 

"A case, or meds?" His joke is biting and dry, as usual. This is why they work so well together.

 

"Both, I guess," he can't keep up with Max's medications anymore.

 

"They've got me on Prozac still. Lasix for blood pressure. Crestor for cholesterol. Aspirin every day for arthritis." He lists this like it's a standard grocery list. "Not to mention the Hydrocodone." That he doesn't even need but can't stop taking. "The only thing about me that still works is my sex drive, apparently."

 

"No, really?" His sarcasm is evident. He let's his guard down a little bit and relaxes, apparently the photo guy got the memo and didnt follow. One of these days he's going to get in trouble with the paparazzi. He's a writer for Christ's sake. He doesn't understand his popularity. "What about cases?"

 

He's already gotten in more that a fee paparazzi fights. Max would have to pull him out of trouble and pull strings to keep him out of jail. That would suck.

"I'm working on a murder associated with a drug sting, a few stolen vehicles, and a robbery. The same as usual." All of these crimes tie in with narcotics. This is, after all, his specialty. "After this week is over, I can get back to work. Because I've been through so much they force me to be a good boy and sit and stay while they decide my fate every year."

 

"I can see why you're so bored," Alan's bored now just by walking. He's dying for a good cup of coffee. Suddenly he checks his pockets, a little startled he doesn't have his thermos. Not like he really needs it, but ...  
"It's been a while. I don't know why they're keeping you caged up," he doesn't understand the point. "You'd be more useful on the feild."

 

"They need to make sure I'm fit for duty and not addicted to alcohol and pain medication." He states this with dry irony. "Of course I'm clean." Cheeky.  
There's the coffee shop. Max holds the door for Alan and follows him inside.

 

Alan stops dead in his tracks.  
"Hi Al!" Barry waves enthusiastically from his booth, wiggling in his hands what appears to be a life size cutout of Alan wake reading "Return" at the table, taking up a whole space. "This is what I was calling you about! Look at this thing! People can have lunch with you and everything!"

"Christ," Alan croaks.

 

Max stares at Barry and the Alan cutout before deadpanning the only thing he can think to.  
"You should have let me sleep all day."

 

"Barry-"

"C'mon!" He's so damn excited. Alan inhales a moment before indulging him, sitting across from the cut out. "They're thinking about putting these all over town to announce the "Return" of Alan Wake. Isn't it clever?"

 

"I'm gonna be sick." Max doesn't bother taking his sunglasses off.

 

“Barry, right now, really,” he’s stressing out. Between the divorce, the new book that’s barely finished, and...this...he’s not exactly happy at the moment.”

“Oh, calm down, Al,” Barry grins at the waitress as she comes back, already handing coffee to both Payne and Alan, knowing what they were going to order. people are getting used to them being around here, and now Alan is debating on finding a new coffee shop. “It wont be a problem. Besides,” he looks at Max. “Your secret is still safe with me.”

 

"What secret?" He takes a sip of his coffee, staring Barry down behind his dark glasses. It is a threat and a warning all rolled into one. Do not fuck with him, Barry.

 

“Geez,” he leans away from Max and looks to Alan again. He throws an arm around the cutout, pointing to it. “We modeled the face from before you went all...” he gestures to Alan’s face. “Fuzzy. Beards look weird on you. Anyway-”

 

"I'm sure he'll shave for the press tours." He sounds completely unenthused about everything, including Alan himself. His detachment is just a sign of his mental state.

 

“You really need to find someone less gloomy to....hang out with,” nice save, Barry. He rolls his eyes and leaves the cut out alone, focusing his attention back on Alan. “Anyway, what are you two up to?”

“I just wanted coffee and come peace,” Alan sounds irritated.

 

"I was hoping for a new chance at life and a scone, but instead I got a fat man in a vest." Max sips at his coffee- black, OF COURSE- and stares Barry down.

 

Alan huffs a bit in laughter.

“Ug, fine. I have to finish my meeting anyway,” he gestures to the shop owner and waggles a little wave goodbye, finally leaving them in peace. For now at least. Alan scoots out of his seat and moves opposite Payne, accidentally bumping into the cutout and giving it an unhappy scowl.

 

Max takes his phone out and snaps a picture of this moment. New lock screen, for sure. As he slips his phone away, a nervous young woman approaches.

"Mr. Wake?" Great.

 

He has the largest urge to tell her to fuck off, but instead he pinches the bridge of his nose and looks over to her. “Can I help you?” He only sounds a little irritated.

 

"I'm a huge fan of your work and I was wondering if I could-"

"Mr. Wake is busy right now." Max interrupts.

"E...excuse me, sir?"

"Casey. Now, please, let the man have his coffee."

"Casey...?" Her eyes widen.

 

“Yes. Mr. Casey and I are enjoying lunch now. Thank you,” He looks at Max with the biggest look of relief he’s ever had. But he does feel a little bad for her, So he rips off part of the cut out (he’s sure Barry has twenty by now), at least taking most of the torso off as sets it aside. He’ll do something with that later. He wants to see her reaction to whatever Payne is pulling.

 

Max pulls a sharpie from inside his coat and passes it to Alan to sign part of the cutout for her. It's the least Wake can do.

"Mr. Casey, I'm sorry! I know it has to be so stressful for celebrities. I thought it wouldn't hurt to ask, though."

"Of course not. But as Mr. Wake's security, I've seen some crazy fans his week. It would be best if-"

"Casey as in...Alex Casey?"

"I-"

"Mr. Wake, did you base him off of your bodyguard?!"

Score. Another crackpot theory.

 

“I dunno. Did I?” He looks at Max with a squint before he signs the cut out, not before drawing on his own face. Mostly because he really, REALLY hates these cut outs. He adds one more modification and then hands it to her. “Don’t tell anyone, okay? It’s something my publisher doesn’t want getting out.”  
Oh, God, now he can’t stop grinning.

 

"I won't! I promise! Thank you, Mr. Wake!" She takes the piece of the cutout and grins before leaving.

"That's going to be all over Tumblr by tomorrow." How does Max know what Tumblr is? There has to be a reason for that. Maybe it was a case he worked at some point. "You're welcome."

He fails to realize that if it's on tumblr, SOMEONE is going to write fanfiction and ship it.

 

“Good, the more people don’t look at us, the better it is,” he likes that this relationship is on the down low, it makes it kind of sexy, too, having to pretend he’s not involved with the man across from him. “In can’t wait to read some of the theories now. People are going to try and hunt you down.”

 

"I shouldn't have a problem until casting announcements are made for the movie." That thing is really going to happen. He needs the money from the royalties badly. He just hopes they don't fuck up his story too badly. "I hope they cast someone handsome, at least. Even then, we can just say I was fucking around."

 

“I heard talk of Mark Wahlberg,” he’s one hundred percent serious.

 

His nose wrinkles. "A Bostonian? Christ..." New Yorkers don't like Bostonians, and vice-versa.

 

“Mhm. I have a friend who gets scoops on movies like that. They haven’t brought it up to you yet?” he pauses. “Imagine if they made an Alex Casey movie. Who the hell would they cast?”

 

"I don't get final say. If it's official, they'll tell me shortly before they announce it." He considers Alan's question and takes another sip of his drink. "That depends. How do YOU see Casey? Like me, or was it different?"

"I bet they'll cast Tom Cruise..." They always cast Tom Cruise.

 

“I wouldn’t mind Tom Cruise, but he’s too short. Casey is tall with a tired face. He needs someone bigger and weary,” he looks directly at Max.

 

"So me in my thirties. Got it. Remember how Cruise is Jack Reacher, though? He pulled that off. Hm...maybe Keanu Reeves. He's got that weary thing down." He grins, forcibly.

 

“He’s a good choice. But he’s doing those John Wick movies, it might confuse people. I don’t really watch movies that often, I don’t know many people who could fit,” it’s sooooo terrible. The waitress refills his coffee on instinct, he’ll leave her a nice tip,

 

"They did tell me who is going to be Mona in the movie about Valkyr." He looks a bit uncomfortable at that fact. "That was strange. She's a lovely young woman but..." Well, it makes sense. It was his lover. "I'll tell you when we're alone. I don't want to accidentally break my contract." Ah, there's that.

 

“I get it,” he glances around, watching Barry barrel out with a wave. Apparently he didn’t notice the torn cutout, which relieves Alan. He lets out another sigh and looks at Max, wondering what’s on his mind. He sometimes wishes he could be somewhat comforting in public.

“Anything else you want while we’re out?”

 

"We might as well swing by the office. Chief Bravura will have my head for it, but I'm bored, and I could at least organize some of my files from home." Alan can and probably should tell him no. The last thing Max needs is to be stuck in his own personal hell again.

 

“Okay,” oooh, he’s bored enough to give into that. He knows moping around at the house isn't good for either of them, but is this any better? “Finish up your coffee. How far is the office anyway?” It’s not like they’ll be there long.

 

"We can drive." He gets it, Alan. He gets it. "It's a few miles away. My extra parking pass is in your glovebox. You can just use the station's lot." Max finishes his coffee and sets the cup down before leaving a tip and standing up with a groan. Christ, his knee hurts.

 

Alan makes a mental note to buy a knee brace anyway.  
He leads Max outside, squinting at the sunlight and patting down his coat for his glasses. It’s so strange seeing someone in something so heavy at the tail end of summer.  
“Thank God,” he seems relieved he can drive. He just wants to go and he’s tired of walking. He’s a writer, not an athlete.

 

Max is what happens when someone athletic gets older. Alan chose a safer career path, in theory. Max slips on his sunglasses and follows beside Alan again. What an odd pair they are. An older, shorter, stockier man, and a tall, thin, younger one. No wonder nobody catches on they're together.  
"Don't say a word." He knows what Alan's thinking about his knee.

 

“You keep making a big deal,” he finds his sunglasses and sliding them on. “Don’t think I don’t notice you limp at times.”  
He’s not wrong. Someone notices Alan and screams, a young girl, maybe fourteen, who’s trying to get her mother’s attention and who wont stop shouting his name. Three times today. He’s losing his patience.

 

"Maybe if you didn't wear that ridiculous coat people wouldn't recognize you on sight. I know you're carrying that pistol, by the way. You don't trust my aim?" He doesn't sound like he's joking, but...it's Max. Alan understands he is.

 

“I trust your aim too much, and if anything happened I would have to attend your trial as a witness. They wouldn’t let me lie.”  
The parking lot shouldn’t be much farther. Alan is secretly dying in the heat. “I like my coat,” he says matter-of-factly. “And you should support that.”

 

"I do. But when I have to carry you to the hospital with heat stroke neither of us is going to have fun." Max is strong enough, but it would look ridiculous.  
His aim is good- TOO good. Superpowers, after all. How nobody has noticed this over the years is amazing.

 

“You’d love to carry me,” he huffs, heading to the car. He unlocks the doors and piles in, turning the A/C on high. He pulls out and turns onto the main road, neglecting a seat belt.

“Just getting your files, right?” He asks, wondering if Payne has an alternative motive.

 

"I could arrest you for that." Payne buckles his own belt. It isn't something he'd actually do, is it?

"Yes. Just getting my files." He sounds as convincing as always, which means he doesn't sound convincing at all. He grabs the parking pass out of the glovebox and shoves it into place over the rearview mirror's arm.

 

He rolls his eyes and does his seat belt.  
“I haven’t died yet, or been arrested,” like that’s a feat. He switches on the radio for a talk show he can turn down low as background noise. He stops at a red light, then looks at Max. “I’ll miss you around the house.”

 

"Someone TRIED to arrest you once. My coworker." Nightingale.

He subtly reaches over for Alan's hand again, simply because he can.

"We'll have strange hours again. Don't go stir-crazy on me." Max often works the graveyard shift, after all.

 

“Should I get a job you think?” He suggests as traffic moves again. He wouldn’t be opposed, and if he signed up to work anywhere he’d either get hired on the spot, or laughed at. But the option is there.

 

"Heh. Come be my sexy receptionist." Oh my hod.

 

Alan coughs. “I don’t even like to answer my own phone, why would I answer one for you?” He’s not wrong.

 

"But you'd get the distinct pleasure of being around me all day." He snorts. "You could be my consultant with the movie studio, maybe. I don't know."

"Oh! Maybe they would hire you to write the script?"

 

“I’ve done consulting before. Usually my ideas get scrapped,” he takes a left. “Movie script? I haven’t written one before. That would be interesting,” if he can stay motivated to write it. Then again...he lives with Max Payne already. He has a muse.

"What producer in their right mind would say no to an Alan Wake script?" He has a point. "And you can make me look good."

 

“I’ll consider it. Get me the number for the producer,” he seems excited about it, which is kinda cute for him. He finally has something he’s looking forward to. And it’s an excuse to put Return off. “I think that would be fun.”

 

"We could have a gun range date as research again." Oh, god. Max will scare everyone there. It would be fun to see, though.

 

“Sounds good to me,” he likes that it’s so simple with them. It’s enjoyable. ”I’ll book a spot anyway,” they have guns all over the house, so thankfully they wont have to rent. “Right, tell me where to go. I haven’t been to this part of the city in a while.”

 

"Take the next right. The second garage is the one you want. My building isn't labeled. Get your CC permit ready because you'll have to check your weapon at security." Hey, he IS a Fed, after all.

 

“Got it,” he keeps it in his wallet. He takes the right and pulls up, parking infront of the second garage as instructed. He lets go of Max’s hand and undoes his seat belt, heading out of the car. “Will they even let me in?

 

"Yes." He unbuckles his seatbelt and gets out of the car at about the same time. "You're with me. Come on. You haven't seen my office before anyway, have you?" He heads for a security checkpoint, which leads to an elevator. Upon arriving there, he flashes his credentials and opens his coat to show his firearm. He then removes it, and steps through for scanning. On the all clear, he's given the absolutely bonkers, massive .45 back. That is not a standard issue duty weapon.

Alan will have to check his little revolver. He will get it back though.

 

Alan’s little revolver is given for checking, it’s so tiny compared to Payne’s. He eyes the massive handgun and huffs in response, not at all shocked. Not really. “Show off,” he mumbles once the secruty check is over and done with.

 

"I know how to use it for its intended purpose." To kill. And he does. Or at least, he has in years past. Into the elevator and up they go. He's on the thirteenth floor.

"Stay close and don't smarttalk anyone, even if they say something about you."

 

Alan just nods, suddenly a little uncomfortable. He knows what Payne does. But seeing all of this up close is making him nervous. Juuust a little bit. he sticks close to Payne, letting him lead the way.

 

Welcome to the world of Alex Casey, Wake. It is busy and bustling, and Max walks the floor like he owns the place, rightfully so. Neither of them gets more than a glance right now.

 

“I feel uncomfortable,” he mutters down into Payne’s ear, feeling sort of...sort of like an outlier. Here he is, just a writer, and here are all these people who know how to kill him. And then there’s Payne. He doesn’t really know what to do with himself.

 

"You're safe, if nothing else." Payne could take on this entire building and walk away. Again, superpowers. Alan chose a weird one.  
There's his office. He has a real one, not some cubicle. The door reads: PAYNE, MAX. NARCOTICS.  
Great. Feeding the addiction.

He unlocks it and steps inside. It is utilitarian and dusty. So...just like him.

 

"Comfy," Alan comments, leaning against the doorframe. He watches Payne in his natural habitat, curious, but silent. For a second, anyway. "You spend much time here?"

 

"Oh, yeah. I basically lived here for a few years back around 2004 to 2006." He isn't exaggerating at all, either. There's a coat rack, a gun safe, file cabinets, and some sparse pictures on the wall. He heads to his desk and rummages through a drawer to find what he wants.

"PAYNE?"

"Oh, no." There's Bravura, right on schedule.

"PAYNE, GO HOME."

 

Alan scoots from the door, not wanting to get caught between Payne and his boss. The writer clears his throat, suddenly feeling even more awkward than before.

 

"Chief, I'm just getting reading material." He waves the files so the angry man outside the door can see them. "I'll be gone before you know it!" 

"I ALREADY KNOW IT, PAYNE. I'll fail your psych eval!"

"You wouldn't' dare, boss." Payne doesn't seem worried. He shoves some of the files in a messenger bag he then hands to the boyfriend.

 

He takes the bag and awkwardly waves to Bravura. The bag is slung over his shoulder, followed by a cough and a glance Max's way.

 

Max isn't backing down. His boss doesn't scare him, and neither do the threats.

"Who's your friend? Wait, is that fucking Alan Wake? Is he doing MORE RESEARCH? You have to get APPROVAL for-"

"NO, Chief. He's carrying my goddamn bag." Max is nearly done. This yelling match seems perfectly normal to him.

 

"Just a bag," Alan's voice is rather low being here is stressful. How the fuck does Max do it? Research. Like Alan Wake wouldn't come into a headquarters without a permit, through. He's terrible.

 

Is yelling obscenely a requirement to be a cop at this age? It seems like it. Max motions for Alan to follow him and then opens the door.

"Chief, I'm leaving now. Don't have another aneurism, okay?" With a pat to the man's shoulder, Max brushes past him. "Come on, Alan! Let's go."

 

Alan is quickly scooting past him and joining Max, though his gaze lingers on the angry chief behind him. "I regret letting you talk me into bringing you here," he didn't even have to do that, Alan. "Is he always like that?"

 

"Yes. Cops die young for a reason. Most of us, anyway." Max heads down towards the elevator, ignoring a glare from a woman walking by. Alan also gets a sneer just for being associated with Payne. People don't like him here.

 

How rude. Doesn't she know who he is? "You have a lot of friends, I see," he frowns at her reaction. He eyes the bag over his shoulder and peeks inside, curious.

 

He's greeted with one folder that is partially open, revealing a burned and dismembered body in the charred front seat of a car, held there in pieces via a nail gun.  
"I don't have friends." The elevator opens. Payne steps in.

 

"I'm not your friend?" He asks with a very big faux frown. He makes a face at the content of the folder and closes the bag.

 

"I have one friend." The elevator closes and down they go. "Work is stressful but it keeps me alive. If I didn't have it in my life, I'd go crazy with boredom."

 

"I know. You wallow away at home like a writer with writers block," he finds that funny. "You want your bag?"

 

"Yes. Thanks." He accepts it and slings it over one shoulder. They hit ground floor. Time to go. Payne waves to the guards and waits on Alan to get his revolver.

 

He's glad he has his gun back, he feels instantly safer. He rejoins Max shortly, meeting him outside and starts to head for the car. "Your boss didn't seem too fond of me when he recognized me."

 

He heads for the car, hands in his pockets yet again and the bag over his shoulder.

"People generally don't like crime authors if they're in the law field. Don't take it personally. Nobody actually threatened you, so you're safe."

 

"Maybe I should send a signed copy of Sudden Stop," he jokes as he opens the door. He doesn't know why he always drives, he just does out of habit.

 

Payne can drive and does a lot, but in recent years he's become more reliant on the subway instead. He does have a car, though it doesn't get out much. He gets in the car and buckles up, then tucks the files at his feet.

"They'd burn it."

 

"Not like it would affect my sales," he pulls out and heads out, only noticing at the red light he forgot his seat belt again. "....what do you think of my books?" He asks suddenly.

 

"I like them. They're the best option for that kind of thriller on the market, in my opinion, when it comes to a cop character. I like Jack Reacher, but he's military police. That's different. Lee Child is good. I honestly hold you up at the same standard. I don't reach much, though, and you know that."

 

"I was worried you were going to admit you haven't read them," they are a money maker. But anyone can put a steaming pile of shit on the market and become a best seller. "I saw the trailer for that movie. There's a guy I swore I've seen before there."

 

"You know, I thought the same thing." He frowns. "The new one, right? It's like something in the back of my mind just...lit up. I wonder who it was, and why..."

 

"I don't even know him, but he looked so familiar..." Alan huffs, not able to remember. As usual, he grabs for Max's hand, glad they're sort of in private.

 

"It feels like the kind of day we should have a movie night to end later. Cuddle up on the couch, forget the world, watch a ridiculous thriller..." It's how they spend many evenings. "That, or watch Twilight Zone, since it is on Netflix now." The hand holding in the car is something they do nearly every time. It's one of the few moments in public they can touch like that with no fear of being noticed.

 

He feels bad they have to stay in secret. Barry knows. Alice knows. But it's to keep out of the media. He doesn't think it would be too bad, but he's famous, he can't chance it. Eventually they arrive back to the apartment, Alan having agreed to a Netflix night. "You gonna work while we watc?" He asks when they hit the elevator.

 

"No. I will later. I've still got a few days I'm stuck out of work, after all." He'll give Alan his attention like a dutiful boyfriend. He'll enjoy the show, too. He always does, whatever they watch. Back up to Alan's place, he shifts the back and glances inside once, as if fondly remembering what he grabbed. He's...strange.

"So I was thinking once I start working again I can help you pay half the rent-" Here he goes again.

 

“Max, it’s fine. I can pay it. I have the money,” he doesn’t feel like that’s something he should do. Alan never made Alice pay rent, why make Max? “Keep your money, you’ll need it. I can handle everything here,” he’s grabbing water from the fridge despite wanting a drink. He’s not going to indulge that habit tonight.

 

He looks defeated, but he gives it another try. "Then I'm buying all the groceries like I did before I was put on leave. And the gas. End of discussion." Don't push it, Alan. Really, when someone sits and thinks about it, he's a 40-something man with a younger one paying for things society expects him to cover himself. Of course he feels antsy about it.

He wants a beer. Badly. But he's not going to break down into that this early. He sets the bag with his files in it near the desk he uses at home.

 

He sighs. “Fine.”

He doesn’t feel like arguing about it. He doesn’t see a point. He brings water towards the cough and sits, glad to be home. People can’t spy on him from the floor he’s at, and he keeps the windows closed. it’s the one place he can feel open and do whatever he wants.  
Dear God, he’s becoming a hermit. He turns the TV on, then offers Payne the remote.

 

Max sits next to Alan and takes the remote. He's STILL got that coat on. That thing rarely leaves him. It's a comfort item, honestly. For all the bad memories it brings, it also has some wonderful ones. He turns on the TV and opens up Netflix.

"What sounds good, Al?" He jokingly mimics Barry's accent.

 

“You mentioned Twilight Zone,” he leans back and relaxes, already having shed his coat on the edge of the couch. He kicks his shoes off and yawns, exhausted as always. Why is he always so tired? Probably the nightmares.

 

He slips his shoes off as well and goes to Twilight zone, picking up at the last episode they'd seen before they stopped. They watch it a lot, chiefly because it reminds them of the show Alan wrote for back in the day. Once it has started, the usually gruff and hostile Payne leans over against Alan and rests there comfortably.

 

He shifts, making room so he can get comfortable. He likes how domestic things are, it gives him a distraction from his addictions and issues and writer’s block. He’s silent, thinking about something, squinting, absently running a hand through his hair. This is something he never outright expected, but he doesn'’t hate it in the slightest.

 

Max is happy to lean there, this pose a familiar one they share many nights. When Alan asked him if he wanted to move in, it had thrown him off-guard. They'd been dating for a couple of months, and Payne had managed to keep Alan from seeing his apartment that long. Eventually it became inevitable, and Alan invited himself over. It was...bad, to say the least. Run down, in shambles, and sparsely furnished.

He'd known it would be bad from the neighborhood and from the state of the building. Walking down the halls was like being back in a nightmare. But seeing how Max was living more or less set him to ask the question nearly immediately after an embarrassed Max invited him inside after he showed up at the door.

 

He felt bad. He couldn’t help himself, especially when he’s not used to being alone. Alice moving out had left a hole and an emptiness, seeing Payne’s apartment was enough to convince him to ask. It’s been a long time now, he’s grown used to his presence and genuinely enjoys it.  
“Hey,” he nudges him before letting him slip into his lap so Wake can get more comfortable. He doesn’t seem bothered by whatever he’s thinking about, but it’s clear he’s not watching the show anymore. He seems...unfocused.

 

Max moves when nudged, head resting on Alan's lap in a way that he can still easily watch the TV. The urge for a drink is biting at him. Alan would know this is when he'd start drinking, too, and he's going to get restless soon. He's holding it off as best as he can but they both know it won't last. And, yes, he's getting help for it. But he just hasn't been able to stay sober, and he refuses to go into a rehab program- it would cost him his job.  
"Are you okay?"

 

“I’m thinking,” no shit. “About Return. I got an idea, and I’m debating on if it would work with the manuscript,” he never has a deadline, so he never really worries about finishing the novel. It’s been a long time, and he’s frustrated with it. “I’m still debating on getting a job too. Thinking about it,” another squint. “A lot of thinking, actually.”

 

"Want to tell me about it?" He can be a good muse when he needs to be. This is one of those moments that is exactly what he needs to be. It's funny, in a way. He was the inspiration for Alan's best selling works, but now he's trying to help the man come up with something new.

 

“What if, what if the diver never leaves the dark place, even after the Champion is freed? What if he’s doomed to stay there, and the rest of the story picks up from his perspective. We learn his name, who he is, and how he’s guided the Champion along, and then, right at the end- he has an epic showdown with the Dark presence once and for all.”

 

"But would he win?" Max asks this curiously. "COULD he win? And even if he did, how would he get out?"

 

“That’s what I’m stuck on. I love the idea, but I don’t know the details yet,” he sighs, defeated. “I should have written another crime novel. Maybe...I don’t know, be lazy with it and choose Casey’s never mentioned brother. Tumblr would eat that up.

 

"Hah...that would be like if there was an Adam Wake." ... "No, I'm sure you'll come up with something great in time. Why not start it? You don't have to describe the character right away. You can fill in names later."

 

“I suppose I can. I just can’t motivate myself,” he sounds disappointed. “People expect a new novel. What the hell am I supposed to do about it? I feel like I’ve wasted potential on a series that’s absolutely killed my motivation.”

 

"Sorry." He feels like he should apologize. He is, after all, where Casey came from. "You could create a new character. Someone younger."

 

“A new character...” He muses. “A time traveling guy who’s good with guns and single handedly saves the world from time ending forever. His opposition is someone he used to trust, and his brother holds the key...”

 

"...See? That's perfect! Holy shit, Alan, and you say you ain't a fast writer."

 

“...I have an idea,” he seems impressed with himself. He bends down and gives Payne a big ol’ peck in appreciation. “Thank you.”

 

"I'm glad I'm somewhat useful." He grins, not exactly proud of himself but very proud of Alan. "Any time."

 

He sighs, content one issue is solved. He doesn’t move for now, he’s too comfortable with Payne on him. Instead he curls down a bit, reaching for the remote to start the next episode.

 

Payne would get grumpy if Alan moved too much. Distracted from the urge to drink for the moment, he gently reaches for Alan's other hand and holds it, staying right where he is and being quiet for now.

 

He doesn’t feel odd with the sudden change of avoiding touch to suddenly craving it when they’re home. All they need is someone to find out about them to make things complicated. Right now, he’s just happy about it. “I hope your boss doesn’t throw a fit about us showing up tomorrow.”

 

"He won't. If anything, he'll call me, chew me out, and then hang up and it will be over. I've dealt with worse." He doesn't sound concerned at all. "Besides. What's the worst he can do? Fire me? Again? For doing my job?"

 

“Probably. You know how people are,” a pause. “Do you think he knows?”

 

"Probably. Roommates don't do EVERYTHING together, and we do everything together. He knows that. Not only that, but my psych screenings mean I have to be honest about myself. They haven't asked me if I'm seeing someone this time, but I can't lie if they do. It's national security and everything." He realizes this sounds bad. "Don't worry. That never gets out."

 

“Unless they find it juicy enough to exploit?” He frowns. “I hate that it has to be under wraps. If the media wouldn’t murder us just for the publicity, I wouldn’t have cared it was out.”

 

"Well, if it does come out, I'm not running away." That's a solemn promise, too. "And it won't be the end of anything, either. Not even reputations."

 

“No, but we’ll be followed by paparazzi for months. And then I wont be able to finish any books. I don't want to deal with that. I doubt Alice want’s people chasing her either for the reason why her husband turned gay.”

 

"I'll kill them all. Then you can finish your book." He mutters this, partially into Alan's leg.

 

“Murder is illegal. At least partially,” he wont tell Max about the dreams where he murders the shadow people. He strokes Max’s hair, lost in thought. “What if we eloped, then came out with it three years later. No one knows until we ‘accidentally’ slip it.”

 

"I don't want to elope. I like New York City. Can we just elope to a different neighborhood?"

 

“Like where?” That wasn’t a no, Max.

 

"I have no idea." He huffs. "But I'm not so sure about marriage, Alan. At my age, anyway."

 

“It was just an idea,” he doesn’t care, for the most part. He’s freshly divorced, and he misses the titles and the lables that came with it, but over all? He shifts again, moving so he’s behind Payne. The couch is wide enough for him to fit in comfortably. “It’s too early to sleep.”

 

Yay, not so little little spoon. He's lost some weight, though.  
"Ask me again when I'm working and everything is normal. Right now I feel like a housewife and I don't like it." Fair enough. That makes sense.

 

Alan snorts. “Housewife...” He finds that funny, in an odd little way. “When do you start again? I need to know when I don’t have to find you moping on the floor,” Says Alan Wake, king of mope.

 

"If they don't ban me, I'll start next week. If they don't like what they see, I have another week of moping before I know whether I'm forced to retire or not. Pension, yay...."

 

“You know, I have a friend here who could use someone if you don’t get accepted. He’s a detective, runs his own little business. He’s...weird. But he could use some help, I’m sure.”

 

"I don't want to be a PI. That's way too far below where I've stood in the past. I'd feel even more useless." He sounds pretty dejected right now.

 

“You’re not useless,” he says this rather firmly. “Even now.”

 

"Aw, Alan, what do I even do?" He protests. "I sit around and I drink and I do nothing productive. I might as well be a housecat."

 

“I mean, you’re nice to look at. You did the dishes the other night. And...mmm,” he’s trying to help.

 

"Exactly. A useless, old housecat." he glances over his shoulder at Alan briefly. "Who contributes nothing but half-baked ideas."

 

“I said you did the dishes once,” there’s something at least. “I haven’t written anything in five years. How do you think I feel? I live off of my one real success.”

 

"I haven't ever had a success. I just killed the people who took things from me and dug deeper holes. Your success was built off of that failure. It makes a good story, though."

 

“I wouldn’t have had it if it weren’t for you,” he reminds him.

 

"The problem with stories in reality is that they don't end when the last page turns unless you're dead. And unlike Alex Casey, I'm not."

 

“I wish I could do something,” he glances at the closed window, wishing he had it open. it sounds like it’s raining outside. He’s comfortable, at least.

 

He figures out what Alan wants just from body language and not seeing the glance. He slips Alan's hands off of him and stands- with a wince and a limp, of course, to head to the window,. he pulls open the curtains, opens the blinds, and cracks the window up, letting in the smell and sound of rain. He then lowers the blinds again and closes them, but leaves the curtains open. He returns to Alan and lays back down, settling in like the arthritic he is. All that shootdodging will do that to a man.

 

“You should really let me get the leg brace,” he insists, his gaze going to that knee.

 

"Fine." What else is he going to say? "I fell two stories and twisted the joint back in 2003." Oh. That would do it.

 

“I’ll buy it tomorrow,” he needs to go grocery shopping anyway. Even though Payne had just said he wants to do it, but not until he’s working and has the income. Alan has money to burn. When Payne settles, Alan just throws an arm around him, not caring it’s the middle of the day. He’s just enjoying the time he has.

 

"Can I go with you?" He's so bored. Shopping would distract him. "We could go later tonight." He offers this hopefully. He feels like a shut-in. "I'm really tired of having to be so careful to hide this, Alan. I really am. I don't give a shit. But you're famous and I'll have eyes on me soon when this movie goes through. People wanting interviews."

 

“Yeah, you can come,” he thinks a moment. “Lets come out. Let’s...let’s talk to Alice and then come out,” she’ll be affected by it too. They have a good relationship still, he doesn’t want her being hounded if they did come out. “Get it over with right now. Have them run the tabloids.”

 

"Are you sure?" He knows as well as Alan that doing this means there is NO coming back.

 

“Let’s do it,” he sounds confident.

 

"Does this mean you're positive you want to stick with me?"

 

“Max, I love you,” he’s said that before, and he means it. “This is something I want.”

 

"I love you too, Alan." He means it. "It's hard for me to, but I do." He's lost everyone he's ever said he has loved. He fears Alan is next. Who wouldn't?"

 

“Then let’s do it. Let’s come out. The worst thing that could happen are people watching us wherever we go, which already happens.”

 

"Okay." He agrees, quietly. "Okay." Then he does it louder. "We'll talk to Alice whenever you want. We don't need to rush, though. But let's do it."

 

What feels like a weight is lifted off the writer’s shoulder. He seems pleased. “We can talk to her soon. No rush.” he agrees.

 

"Did you think you were straight? I don't think I ever asked. I did." He finds it odd. He still doesn't bother to label himself.

 

“I thought so. But I’ve looked at men before. I never told Alice until recently.”

 

"Until me?"

 

“Yeah.”

 

"Why me? That's a real question." He has never bothered to ask. Why would he have? "Was it when we first met, when I was younger?"

 

“Somewhat. I thought you were attractive. Other men caught my attention but by then I was married.”

 

"Attractive and asking me to move in are two other things. When I did, we weren't exactly steady. Were you hoping I'd come around?"

 

“I think so. I had just gotten out of my marriage. I was lonely. I liked you.”

 

"The bounceback that never left, huh?"

 

He smirks. “Pretty much. You didn’t seem to mind.”

 

"I've lived alone since my wife and daughter were murdered. Can you blame me?"

 

“No. But you were pretty quick to move in. You can’t tell me you weren’;t interested.”

 

"I was curious. I guess I'll admit that."

 

“Curious in if you were into me or not?”

 

"Yeah. It isn't like I'd tried it before. I wasn't really sure what you wanted."

 

“Well you know now,” he seems pleased. “though, I never expected it to be you.”

 

"You sure? You hired me to be a consultant for your books for accuracy. You then ended up turning Casey INTO me. I think you did."

 

“Maybe I did,” he brushes Max’s hair again. He enjoys that a lot. “I don’t regret it.”

 

Max likes it, and Alan knows this by now. "Y'know...we were going to either have to buy two separate beds or never invite people over again anyway."

 

“Why’s that?”

 

"One bed generally suggests two people are sleeping together."

 

“We are, aren’t we?” He finds it funny. “I don't like company anyway.”

 

"Yes, we are, but if someone was over who DID NOT know that and found out..." Oh. "So we might as well come out."

 

“Exactly,” he pecks the top of his head again, just enjoying himself a moment. He’s a little lost in this domesticity.

 

It's nice, this experience. "You ready to go shopping?"

 

"Yeah," he crawls over Max and gets to his shoes, neglecting his coat. "Do you wanna drove?"

  
"Yes." He sits up and gets his shoes back on. He's still dressed to leave. He runs fingers through his hair and then grabs the keys to his car. Why not? The old girl needs to get out anyway. His crappy little sedan is a treasure to him. Back to the elevator he goes.

 

Alan follows him, no coat. He's too tired and sated to care if someone sees him now. Maybe he'll get some peace and will be able to shop without interuption.

 

"The usual store, I assume?" God bless Walmart. Once at the garage, Max unlocks his car with the remote on his keys and slips into the driver's seat, on which there are bloodstains, browned with age.

These are also on the back seat, too.

Of course.

 

“Ugh,” he makes a face at the bloodstains before sliding into the passenger’s seat with no seat belt. He looks strange outside of the house without a hundred layers on. Of course, his hand instantly goes to Payne’s “Yeah.”

 

He eyes Alan without pulling out of the spot, waiting on the seatbelt to be buckled. He's not losing someone he loves again if he can help it.

 

He rolls his eyes and does his seat belt. Why he has that bad habit is anyone’s guess. He doesn’t seem pleased he’s being made to wear one.

 

Alan can get over it. Max pulls out and heads up through the garage to get to the highway. The going is slow. Late Goodbye comes on. He has a POTF CD in here, apparently.  
He's quiet but content, holding Alan's hand and wondering how he ended up here.

 

“You have a weird thing with that band,” he points to the radio. “Why do you like them so much?”

 

"I feel like their older work is about me." Meta. "And it's as depressing as I am." True. "What all do we need besides groceries and a knee brace you're going to force me to wear that will make everything less sexy?"

 

“Food, I guess,” he looks at his shirt, which is incredibly dirty and has a few holes in it. “I need clothes,” he’s the poorest rich person.

 

"Great. Alan Wake buys his clothes at Walmart. Even I don't do that." No, he's thrift store aesthetic.

 

“I could buy designer clothes and make you wear them too,” he could. He chooses not to. He wears TWEED. “No that it matters. Besides, I’m really in need of shirts, so...’”

 

"I don't clean up well." Bullshit. He does. He's just been down and out since the murders that changed his life. He used to dress so nicely.

"Fine. But I expect you to at least get SOMETHING nice to wear for when we make our big announcement."

 

“That’s asking a lot,” he looks at Payne like he’s asked Alan to cut his hand off. “Fine. I have a suit in my closet at home,” that’s too nice, Alan. “Sweater,” much better.

 

"Turtleneck?" He knows.

The drive is tedious but he does not complain.

"If you theoretically were dressing me, what would you even do?"

 

He looks at Payne and squints. “Keep the leather jacket, get you a better tie. And a better shirt,” Payne has some ugly shirts.

 

He likes this tie. He glances down at it forlornly.

"Are you insulting my Hawaiian shirts?" When very young, back in 2001, his work attire was a white t shirt, an open Hawaiian, and the leather jacket. He switched to a cheap dress shirt and tie around the time Mona died and kept it, but he has so many gaudy shirts.

 

“I am, because they’re terrible,” his shirts are so bad. And Alan is 100% in no place to talk. “Maybe something a little...dressier? Or a nicer coat. Something...”

 

"I love this coat..." That coat has been soaked in the blood of his enemies and his own blood, too.

 

“Just...don’t worry about it,” he waves it off with a roll of his eyes. “God, I hate the commute in this city.”

 

"Everyone does." They're getting close, at least. "I don't embarrass you, do I?...Not just in how I dress." How he talks, what he drives, what he does, how he looks..

 

“No. People think you’re my bodyguard anyway. I don’t feel embarrassed.”

 

"I'm just worried about the future, that's all." Ah. "When they know."

 

“Oh they’ll say things. They said things about Alice, about me, it’s how it goes,” he’s so chilled out about being a celebrity.

 

"I know there are already jokes about your bodyguard being shorter than you. But I could kick anyone's ass, and you know it." He can basically stop time around himself. No shit.

 

“Everyone is shorter than me,” he’s pretty dang tall. He taps the arm rest, bored out of his mind. Car rides are the absolute worse. “Don’t worry about it. You’ll get used to the things they’ll say and how people will look.”

 

"I don't know. I'm not cut out for celebrity status." But he will do it, because what he says to Alan is true.  
They're nearly there. Relief washes over Payne as he manages to turn left on a yellow. ARRIVAL!

 

Alan is instantly out of the car. He looks sloppy, but that’s not a surprise. He looks at Payne as he joins him in the parking lot. “Do you want to split up?”

 

"Sure. I'll find a knee brace and anything else in pharmacy. You find shirts. We'll meet in grocery. Deal?" Beep, beep. The car is locked once they're both out.

 

“Sounds good,” He doesn’t seem to mind. He heads into the clothing section, takes about thirty minutes to buy the literal same brand of white shirt he’s already wearing. For someone with the money he has, Alan Wake is a simple man. He doesn’t take long, either, so he’s already waiting in grocery with a package of three shirts and looking at oranges. How can you tell if oranges are ripe enough? He’s been stopped only once so far by an excited young man, but he doesn’t seem too irritated at the moment about it.

 

 **Internal monologue:** _I pushed past the other geriatrics to the support section and realized instantly what really needed one was my ego. I ain't what I used to be no more. I'm tired, worn out. Domestic. I'm a tamed lion. All that's missing is the flaming hoops and chairs, but with the movie coming, I'll be performing in no time._

Payne picks out a brace and grabs some multivitamin joint support pill in the hopes it will do something. It's his own damn fault for picking his profession. Now to find Wake.  
"Alan? Is that orange inspiring your next book?" His sarcasm is as heavy as always.

 

“Does this look green to you?” He holds it up with a scowl on his face- not close enough to rival the Payne scowl, mind- and shows it to him on all sides. “I think it looks green.”

He shrugs and sets it back into the display before grabbing a different one, He has a little reusable shopping bag with him- he had hundreds from when he and Alice were together- and he grabs other fruits. Good snacking food, keeps him from getting too interested in alcohol. Insomnia is a bitch, after all.

 

Payne is and always will be more interested in alcohol.

"They all look green. Except those." He points languidly to a display of Redd's Apple Ale, snorts in tired disdain at his own joke, and folds his arms.

 

“You’re not helping,” he doesn’t sound too irritated. He grabs some apples, just because of that, then looks in his bag. “Anything you want? I might get frozen dinners,” Alan doesn’t really cook, he doesn’t have an interest. He’d rather just have easy food for the moment.

 

"Frozen salt blocks?" Max eats the same way. This is one reason his cholesterol is so bad. And his blood pressure, too.

"Anything but ramen." He basically lived off of that shit.

 

God, Max is so old. Alan’s getting old. Old old old old old.

“No ramen. When I first wrote Errand Boy I lived off of it. It was easier to just make noodles than actually get food when I was so invested in finishing the book,” simpler times back then.

 

"I spent all my money on alcohol." Well.

 

“Of course you did,” he’s not surprised. He leads him to the frozen food, picking out a couple of dinners for himself and letting Payne choose a few. They’re so domestic it’s insane. “Anything else?”

 

Payne grabs a few. He's not exactly a big eater. That belly is genetic and beer. Figures.  
"Bandaids for my ego."

 

“You are scathing tonight,” he seems more amused than anything. He leads Payne to the check out, eyeing the knee brace he grabbed. Good. Alan would have bothered him about it if he never bought one. Concern for safety, after all.

 

"When am I not?" When he's drunk and crying.

So...Don't answer that.

He points to the tabloids in the rack next to them.

"Ready to be front and center?"

 

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he remembers seeing a very unflattering picture of him screaming at a journalist once. He raises an eyebrow at the current People cover, not at all surprised about the Pitt and Jolie split. Thankfully, he’s usually only been inside the magazine when he’s done something stupid, not front and center. “Are you? You’ll get that and the movie deal. That’s a lot at once,” he sets the bag on the conveyer, wondering what the spreads will look like.

 

"Me and my ugly ties." He's still (fakely) bitter about that, it seems. He really wants to pay, but he holds his tongue.

 

Alan just puts it on a debit card, something that looks a little worn. He needs a new one soon. “Maybe when our cover comes out, they’ll have an entire section dedicated to ugly ties. “Alan Wake: gay for ugly ties?!’. They might not even put you on the cover.”

 

"Ssh." Someone might hear that conversation. "Slow down there, Romeo."

 

“I’m just saying.”

“Thank you Mr. Wake!” The cashier says cheerfully as she hands him his receipt. He nods at her before motioning for Payne to follow. “You sure you’re okay with this? people will start noticing you, that might be bad for your job.

 

"I don't go undercover no more." English, Max. How does an author date someone who talks like this? "It's fine. All the people I dealt with while undercover are long-dead, anyway." He'd know. He singlehandedly killed them over the course of three days.

 

“Good, because if it did, I’d like to wait. No sense in ruining your job,” he knows how much that means to Payne, to get him back on his feet. So he might as well be conscious. He offers the bag to Max (It’s heavy, after all) and heads for the doors.

 

He takes the bag with one hand and no problem and follows Alan out the door. No incidents- good. At least things are going-  
"ALAN!" Oh, god. OH, god. It's their neighbor. "Al, buddy! Good to SEE you. And your...roommate, too!" Oh, no. Mr. Scratch is grinning ear to ear.

 

“Oh no,” it’s breathed out slowly. He puts on a fake smile for Scratch, though he’s less than pleased to see him. “Mr. Scratch.”  
Does he even have a first name?

 

DOES he?

"I'd like to invite you two over for dinner tomorrow night!" He sounds insistent. They really can't tell him no, can they?  
Payne glances to Alan.

 

“I...um,” he looks at Payne. Can he lie? Eventually he realizes he’s taken too long to answer, so instead he just sighs. “Fine.” That’s all he says on it. Whatever. How bad can it be?

 

"We'll be th-"

"Of course you will! Scratch pats Alan on the shoulder, winks to Max uncomfortably, and leaves immediately."

"I don't like him..." Max growls these words like a nervous dog.

 

“I’ve never liked him. His face makes me uncomfortable,” because he looks so much like him, probably. He doesn’t like the “buddy” thing, either. “I think he knows, too. I wouldn’t be surprised if he spies on me. He was always weird with Alice...”

 

"He knows." There's no way he doesn't. They both know this, deep down. "Let's get out of here. I wonder if he's bugged our apartment."

 

“Please don’t make me more paranoid,” oh God, what if Scratch leaks it? He suddenly goes wide eyed. He sends a text to Barry, then pockets his phone, heading to the car.

 

"Then we come out before he can." He unlocks the car. "It will be fine." Right?

 

“Should be,” he slides in, dreading tomorrow. “I might force myself to write when we get back. I should at least be attempting. Maybe do my idea,” shifting the story on the diver might be interesting. “You?”

 

"I'll probably sleep." No surprise there. "Unless you want a shoulder massage while you write. I could make that happen." He starts the car after he puts the bags in the back seat and backs out before pushing into drive. Once he's wormed out of the parking lot, he reaches over to take Alan's hand again.

 

“Mmm, that’d be nice,” he needs to stop stressing out. That’s part of his problem. He’s stressed about the book, stressed about Scratch, and now he’s stressed about coming out and how it will be accepted.

 

"Okay. THEN I'll sleep." Wow. "How are things between us? I'm just making sure. It feels...normal. Good."

 

“Fine, I think, he finds the question odd. “I wouldn’t want to do this if it wasn’t, you know. I like doing stupid things like going to the grocery store at...” he checks his watch. “Seven thirty?” That’s been their whole day.

 

"We were on the couch longer than I thought we were." That's not a bad thing. "Okay. We'll get home, and I'll heat up dinner. You start writing. I'll get you when it's ready."

 

“Sounds good to me,” there’s a brief smile on his face, but he’s distracted by another text from Barry. He responds, then sets his phone in the center console.

 

The drive is mostly quiet, but it is comfortable. More comfortable than either of them have known in a very long time. God, this is...wow.

 

It’s so strange. Alan is used to domesticity but this feels different than it did. There’s no strain. They barely fight,. Stress levels are low. He likes it. “So, will people treat you different at your work? After we come out?”

 

"No. Nobody likes me anyway." Aw... "It won't change anything."

 

“So long as people don’t go out of their way to treat you like shit,” they’re not far from the apartment., “Barry’s gonna milk this thing like no tomorrow, you know.”

 

"Out Magazine is going to be begging you for an interview. Both of us, probably." That will be wild.

 

“I think that would be good publicity, actually. I could use some good spotlights. Whenever I’m brought up the time I punched a reporter is always brought up.”

 

"Now you can be "gay" AND punch reporters." He has no idea what Alan actually is. He just goes with it.

 

“Bisexual, I think,” he corrects. “I don’t care for labels. I don’t care of they call me gay, or confused, or whatever. I like men and woman. I’ve been with both, now at least.”

 

"I don't know what I am. I don't want to run around saying one, either. I honestly don't understand some of the terms but I don't judge people for what they say they are."

 

You know people are going to assume gay for you,” he has a point. “Even though you dress terribly,”: there he goes again

 

"I've been married and have had a daughter."

 

“But most don’t know that if they don’t know you.”

 

"Well, in our wonderful, shining interview with Out magazine, I'll say it. And they'd better say that in the movie, too."

 

“There you go,” Alan snorts, then huffs again as another text is sent. Obviously he’s arguing with Barry about something.

 

"Everything okay? Just the second husband?" Barry, of course. He teases with his usual tone, something endearing to anyone who has grown used to its gruffness.

 

“Barry thinks it’s a bad idea. He thinks it’ll blow up in my face, and apparently ‘I don’t care’ isn’t a good enough answer for him.”

 

"If you really want to piss him off, we can spin it that we were repressed by your control freak agent." That was bit harsh. Barry is Alan's best friend, after all.

 

“He’s not a control freak, he’s just trying to put my best interest first,” he admires that from Barry, though sometimes he does get carried away. But he’s the only friend Alan has.

 

"Sure." He'll leave it there, but his feelings are made clear from how blunt that statement is. "So...what about him? Is he mad about that we're going through with it? Does he even approve of us?"

 

“Barry approves, I think he doesn’t care so long as I’m happy,” he seems to be too...jovial, to be angry about it. “He was surprised at first, asked if I was gay, if I was always interested in men, but he respects us enough to keep it a secret like I’ve asked.”

 

"Does he respect us, or is he scared I'll tap him twice in the head while he's asleep?" Asking the real questions.

 

“Have you ever thought of asking him? You know he’s so scared of you he wouldn’t try to lie in fear you’d kill him.”

 

"That's a good idea. I don't talk to him often. If I did it face to face there's no way he'd lie. Maybe we should invite him over for dinner one night so I can have a...heart to heart." Oh, god.

 

Alan knows it would be brutal and Barry would leave with his tail between his legs. He loves it. “I think that’s a good idea. If we survive dinner with Scratch tomorrow,” he’s not looking forward to it.

 

Soon enough, Max pulls into their parking garage. Time to head up. He gets out of the car, grabs the bags, and locks it shortly after, heading for the elevator with Alan.  
Once home, as promised, he gets dinner ready and lets Alan work. He steps into the office and silently plants a kiss on top of the other man's head to alert him it is ready. The evening is spent with Alan at the typewriter. Max gives him that promised shoulder massage before curling up in a chair in the office, eyes closed. When nudged to move, he finally grunts and stands. Time for bed.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning goes by rather quickly. Alan runs errands, works a bit on the book, and by the time he’s done with work, it’s time to go to hell. He’s dressed simple as usual, nice leather jacket, a plan black shirt underneath (One of the new ones he bought the night before, and a pair of jeans. He doesn’t seem too eager to go next door, but he sucks it up. 

“Max, you ready?” He calls, picking up a second coat out of habit. He needs to shave, but the beard looks nice for now.

 

Max sleeps all morning. He gets up in time to get ready, though, and actually shaves for once. He tries to stay clean-faced rather than stubbly. He rocked a beard once, but he's feeling better now, which means none of that.

"Yeah. As ready as I'll ever be." He's dressed as nicely as he can manage, actually in a grey suit, but no tie. The white shirt beneath fits well enough and he slicked his hair back somewhat.

 

Alan grabs his keys and heads out the door, shrugging on the second coat despite only going next door. Across the hall is the dreaded place, and Alan really, really wishes he cancelled. He looks at Max a moment before he tap taps on Scratch’s door.

 

Max nods to Alan in confirmation. They can do this.

The door opens shortly after, and Mr. Scratch is there, dressed as finely as always with an awkward grin across his face, all teeth and menace.

"Alan Max! What a pleasure! Come in!" A black cat, a fluffy thing curled up on a stool by the door, hisses at them.

 

Alan glares at the cat, wanting to kick it away. But instead he grumbles and heads inside, sliding the coat off. Why did he wear it in the first place? Habit, probably. He looks at Max with an apologetic look, knowing they both don't want to be there.

 

It smells good, if nothing else. Max smiles brightly, a very fake thing to see on his face, and tries to pull off a better social demeanor for the sake of all of them.

"Thanks for inviting us over, Scratch. It's appreciated. We don't get out much."

"Oh, I know, I know! That's why I asked. I know you two have so many secrets to keep! It makes sense you stay home."

"I...?"

"Oh, what with the new novel We can't have that leaking!"

 

“...” Alan STARES at Scratch, knowing now that he does, indeed, know. And he wonders how he knows. WHY he knows. And why he’s dangling it over his head. “Yeah, Return is being reworked. People will be upset if they found out about it before it came out.”

 

"You're lucky you've got a muse around to help you, then. Those are rare, you know. They say you only really have a few in your lifetime. It's funny, really, how that goes." Scratch heads to the kitchen, where he's finishing putting everything on the table. Oh, wow, that's...actually super impressive. It's a nice hodgepodge of Southwestern food, and does it EVER smell good.

"It's funny, too-" He states this, glancing over his shoulder as he finishes up setting the table. "-how those muses always seem to become lovers too, isn't it?"  
Well.

 

“We know you know,” Alan admits, not in the mood for dancing around it. “Is that why you invited us over? To rub it in that you know?”  
He sounds a little irritated. Max better make sure he doesn’t punch Scratch in the face too.

 

"No, not at all." Scratch looks genuinely surprised. "I invited you over to eat. What I hear through you bedroom wall is another story." Oh. Well...They've tried to be careful, but that makes sense.

"Watch it." Max's warning is simple and thin, sounding remarkably like dry ice might if it had a noise.

"Please. Sit. Eat."

 

“He looks at Max and shakes his head before joining, assuming this is just going to go so swell. He sits at the table and looks at Scratch suspiciously. He’s not trusting him right now. “So you know...” He starts again. “You’ve been rather quiet about it.”

 

"Why would I say anything? The stars have their secrets." Scratch takes a seat. Max does, too. "I don't care. Frankly, if the press were nosing around, I'd deal with them. You two make a cute couple." Cute? Max wrinkles his nose.

 

“I...appreciate that...” he’s being too nice. it makes him creepy and uncomfortable. He looks at Max with a look that reads “save me”. “Usually the media gives good prices for stories like that,” Scratch lives next door to a celebrity, you never know when your neighbors aren’t trustworthy.

 

"The media can suck my dick." Okay, then. That makes Max huff with a chortle of laughter. "Don't worry, you two. Bon appetite. You're my guests."

"Don't mind if I do."

 

He takes some food, admittedly impressed with Scratch’s cooking skills. He always thought of Scratch as a strange man and tries to never be alone around him. Since they don’t have to hide anything, Alan’s free hand searches for a knee.

“Sooooooo.”  
[

Max's free hand falls on top of Alan's. They can do this. They can do this. They can do this.

"SO! What's new for you two? Any vacation plans? Maybe out to Washington? I hear that state is GORGEOUS this time of year." Um.

 

“No...Washington has been ruined for me,” why Washington, of all places? “We are...coming out soon,” He says it slowly, watching Max’s face as he speaks.

 

"Mmhm." Max hums his agreement, the heel of his foot bouncing twice, confirming to Alan- whose hand is on that leg- that it's fine to talk about it. "I figured we couldn't hide it forever."

"I think it's wonderful. And I wish you luck." His cooking is exquisite.

 

He doesn’t know if Scratch is being genuine or if he has some other motive going on. “We have to talk to Alice, see how she feels,” he’ll be inviting her over soon to discuss it. Because he wont put her wellbeing on the line. It’s just not fair. And he’s been enough of an asshole. “But by the end of the month, it will be public knowledge.”

 

"For better or worse..." Max mumbles this, mostly out of concern for how fans might react. He's positive Alice is going to take flak, but she is incredibly understanding. Hopefully she agrees it will be for the best.

 

Who knows how the fans will react, some might drop his books, more might pick them up. Right now they’re in a time where it would be easier to come out than if they had met any sooner. At least, when the time is right, they don’t have to worry about marriage. “And you, Scratch?”

 

"Oh, I'm not seeing anyone right now. In fact, I never have had a steady date." He's so awkward to talk to. It feels fake, like he's reading from a stiff script. 

"Not once?"

"Not once."

"Wow. With your charm, I'm amazed." Max, that's rude.

 

“Not even out of curiosity?” It never crossed his mind Scratch might be aromantic. He’s a little concerned with his fakeness, but he pushes past it, trying to ignore how uncomfortable he is.

 

"Nobody has seemed right for me yet. I'm not in a rush. It will happen, or it won't. Why bother worrying about it?" That's a surprisingly good attitude from a very odd man.

"Well, there's probably a special someone out there who would click with you, but by all means, do what's best." Max, you're being rude.

 

He’s trying not to laugh at Max. He can’t help it. His dry sarcasm and rudeness is funny. Instead, he just eats to hind his obvious amusing. Though, he peers at Scratch to see his reaction.

 

"Mr. Payne, I really don't think you have room to talk. Given your history."

"What do you know about my history?" He sounds defensive and snappish, now.

"Why, everything. It's public knowledge for anyone who Googles your name." This is true. 

"That's...you Googled me?"

"Wouldn't you google your neighbor?"

"...No."

 

“Why do you google your neighbors?” Alan doesn’t care enough. But now he’s considering googling to see if Scratch has any priors...

 

"Because someone DANGEROUS could have moved in." And just like that, Scratch's phone rings. "Excuse me." He stands up, takes the call, and slips away. "Yes? Mmhm, really? Oh, wonderful!"

"He's so weird." Max whispers this, leaning in towards Alan.

 

“He’s made me uncomfortable since he moved in,” he whispers. “Barry wont come over if he’s home...”

 

"Good. Let's get them in the same room and see what happens." Max, NO.

 

“Please, Scratch would tear him apart.”

 

"Literally or figuratively? That guy kind of reminds me of a serial killer..." He murmurs this absently, a wince crossing his face.

 

“I agree. That’s why I always double check the locks,” he looks to where he’s vanished. “What do you think he’s getting a call about? I don't even know if he has a job.”

 

"Do you think he's feeding us people? Do you know what people tastes like?" Max, what the fuck.

 

“I don’t know, but you ruined dinner for me...”

 

"Sorry about that." Scratch returns and sits down. "It was my boss. He told me I have to stop working overtime! Hah, what a hardass! I bet you understand, don't you, Max?"

"Do I ever..." He still doesn't sound enthused.

"Well, I hope this has all been to your liking!"

Scratch's cat is glaring at Alan from on top of a couch.

 

He stares back at the cat, unnerved. “It was...very good,” this has been so fucking awkward.

 

"Well, I won't keep you. I'm sure you have things to do. Thank you for indulging me. I get...lonely." That sounded incredibly sinister. Why is he smiling?

 

“...” Alan stands with his plate and takes Max’s, not letting them leave without at least doing dishes. “Yeah...thanks again...Max, you ready?”

 

"Yeah." Max stands and keeps the fake smile on his face. "Thanks again, Scratch."

"Oh, ANY time, Max." Great.

"Let's go home." Please. Fast.

 

He leads the way out of Scratch’s apartment to their own, a little more quickly than he could have.

“That was so uncomfortable...”

 

"I can't get over the fact he told us he's heard us in bed." He whispers this and wraps an arm around one of Alan's as they head back home.

 

“Do you think he listens to us?” They’re so quiet. Not that loud, and they don’t even have sex often.

 

"No. I think he probably heard us one of the first few times when it was a new thing and figured it out from there." Hey, the first few are always a bit wilder, aren't they? Max gets the door open and tugs Alan inside before closing it.

 

“I’m glad it’s over,” he slides off his coat and sets it on the table, sitting in a chair a moment to distress. “AT least we don't have to worry about food.”

 

"We should call Barry and tell him to come over. You could tell him it's about Return. In reality, I'll grill him." Oh, THIS could be fun.

 

“I love you, you know that?” He finds the idea entertaining. He dials his phone, and- “Barry. Come over. I have the manuscript nearly finished for Return. it’s happening. See you in ten,” he clicks it off. “It’s done.”

 

"Love you too, asshole." They're alone. He can. So he does. He leans in and gently cups Alan's face after the phonecall and kisses him on the lips. "Now let's get ready to terrify Barry."

 

“I’m half lying, the manuscript IS revised and done,” that’s...pretty impressive. And done in two days, no less. He strips off his jacket and pulls a chair into the living room. His manuscript is stapled and left in the chair, knowing it will be the perfect bait for Barry. Five minutes. He knows Barry is racing there.

 

"Wow, my massage really works wonders, doesn't it?" Cheeky bastard. He grins and runs a hand through his hair. "I hope the lardball doesn't have a wreck on his way here."

 

The door is kicked open earlier than Alan expected. 

“Al! Holy fuck!” He sounds so excited. Immediately, he makes his way to the chair, scooping up the manuscript and flipping through the first few pages. “Switching the story to Zane? That’s ballsy, I love it!”

“See, he loves it,” Alan gestures to Barry at Max.

 

"I knew he would." Max states this firmly, and then steps over...and snatches the manuscript out of Barry's hands. He then takes the agent by the shoulders and steers him towards the kitchen table.

"Sit down, Wheeler."

 

“Woah woah woah!” Max is terrifying him. He looks to Alan for help, but Alan seems to be busy looking at his nails than to care what his boyfriend is going at the moment. “WHat’s goin’ on, Max?”

 

"We need to talk." That's incredibly sinister. "About my relationship with Alan." Oh, dear. "And why you think we shouldn't come out." He pushes Barry into the chair, harshly, and passes the manuscript back to Alan.

 

Barry falls into the chair with a whump. “I-I...” He looks at Alan again, pleading. “I don’t think it’s BAD...just...bad publicity...” Bad answer, Barry.

 

"BAD publicity? That your star writer is HAPPY and in a stable RELATIONSHIP? That's funny. That's something YOU don't have, is it, Barry?" Max circles him, as if interrogating him.

 

“I...I...” He has Barry stammering. Alan is breaking, he’s laughing at it. He’s absolutely enjoying this. “No, no, It’s not because of that!”

 

"Are you uncomfortable with the fact we're both men, Barry?" Oh, gosh, here he goes. 

 

“No! That’s not it!”

Alan looks to Barry with a face, wondering if that might be true. Does he have a problem? He’s never heard Barry say anything about same sex relationships.

“I...don’t want Al getting caught up in shit again, okay?”

 

"What shit, Barry?" He pauses directly in front of Alan's agent, arm moving to open his coat and show off that .45. He IS Alex Casey, and he even has superpowers, too. Barry knows what he can do. He's SEEN Max at the shooting range, and he's seen crime scene photos of Max's rampages.

 

“With the media, y’know? They find out a guy who’s just gotten a divorce is gettin’ married and they rip him apart! They’ll destroy Alan in the tabloids!”

“I don’t care,” Alan mumbles, distracted.

 

"Married?" Max states this loudly and kicks Barry's legs open, heel rising as if to stomp him in the balls.

 

“I mean...You know...” He looks at Alan, beyond terrified. “You guys aren’t?”

 

"We were going to come out as dating, dumbass." Max pushes Barry's chair, scooting him back directly into the table and perilously close to stomping on Barry's balls.

 

“O...oh,” he stammers. “Con...congratulations?”

Alan is just shaking his head. Barry is digging a deep hole.

 

"You're damn fucking right." Max is menacing. Criminals break under his interrogation daily. There's a reason for that.

 

“I’m sorry,” he whines, breaking under Max and covering his face. He’s terrified. 

“Max, he’s going to piss himself...” Alan feels bad for him now. It doesn't seem like it was malicious, after all.

 

"Then he'd better clean it up when he does." His growl is terrifying, and so is his expression.

 

“Come on, you broke him,” he gently pulls Max a bit, though there’s something in his eye showing he’s actually really, really, really enjoyed seeing that. “You wont have a problem with us coming out, will you Barry?”

“Of course not!”

“See?”

 

"Would you actually have a problem with us getting married one day?" Max?

 

“No, I assumed that’s why Alan’s been all panicky and asking for-” Barry stops talking immediately, then looks at Alan.

Alan just stares back.

 

"......" Max stares at Barry blankly.

 

“Well this is fun,” Alan clears his throat. “Barry, I think you need to go-”

“You mean you’re not doing it?”

“BARRY.”

 

"....What?" Max stares at Alan obliviously and confused.

 

“I was gonna...” He looks at Barry with a scowl. “You ruined it. I can’t do it now.”

“C’mon,” Barry’s eyes light. “He doesn’t get it. Do it.”

Alan looks at Barry, then looks at Payne. He waits a few moments, debating in his head what to do. The writer has failed before, why would that change now? Then he inhales, pauses a moment more, and gets down on one knee.

 

The noise out of Max's throat is startled, nearly strangled. Oh. He gets it now. He stares at Alan silently.

 

“I...don’t have a monologue prepared. I don't have anything prepared. I spent last night writing my manuscript I never wrote something for this,” he coughs a second, not sure what he’s doing. He feels like he’s outside of his body. “We shouldn’t just come out. We should go all out. And...I think you should marry me.”  
How romantic.

 

"Wow..." He's silent for a moment, staring Alan down. His eyes narrow in scrutiny. But...he slowly smiles, and then he nods.

"Yes."

 

There’s a moment of silence, mostly with Alan processing everything in his head. He inhales a moment before he springs up, grabbing Max’s face into a passionate kiss. He has no words.

Barry, however, is clapping.

 

The kiss gets a surprised expression from him at first, hands flying up as if he were about to push Alan off. But it fades, and he melts with it, holding onto Alan and returning the kiss, a slow and long thing, shocked.

 

He breaks it off with a grin, clearly pleased in the turn of events. Barry is still clapping, too. “I don’t have rings. Not yet. I need some time for that. But I’m...glad.”

 

"I didn't expect that." He murmurs this quietly, eyes locked on Alan's face. "Never would I have expected this."

 

“Neither did I..”

“I did,” Barry raises his hand. Right, the third wheel is still here.

“We have to tell Alice now. At least, so she’ll understand what we’re going to do.”

 

"Oh...oh. Did you tell Alice you were going to...?" He hopes so. If he didn't have her blessing...

 

“I told her I was considering it. She seemed...happy. At least. She was supportive.”

“She also called it weeks ago.”

“Barry!” At that, Wheeler shuts up.

 

"Wow." He's honestly shocked. Big, bad Payne is speechless. He takes a seat and shakes his head. "Wow."

 

“Are you okay?” He looks concerned. “We don’t have to rush anything. I just...wanted to...um,” he’s all fogy headed.

 

"I'm just surprised, Alan. I'm just really damn surprised." That's not a bad thing.

 

“I’ve made jokes about it for months. I don’t know why you are,” he laughs a bit. “Because I was serious sometimes.”

 

"I didn't know that." He sounds embarrassed he didn't realize it. "I didn't ever think you'd want that. I didn't think things were going to go public, either."

 

"Are you regretting things?" Barry stays silent because everything is suddenly all serious. Awkward.

 

"No. No, I'm not regretting anything. I haven't been this goddamn happy since I was barely on the force."

 

“Well, congrats, and everything,” Barry stands and heads for the door, but not before stealing he manuscript. “I’ll uh, take care of this. _Mazel tov_." 

When Barry leaves, Alan moves to Payne, resting both hands on his knees and leaning towards him, getting in his face, but not in an incredibly rude way. “I want this. I mean it.”

 

"I do too. I'm not lying." He can lie well, but he's vulnerable right now. That means this is very much the truth. "I love you, Alan. I don't know how. I don't know why. But I do."

 

Alan just nods. He’s sort of dazed, like he’s out of his own body. He just looks at Payne with soft eyes, somewhat content just to stare at him. He’s glad that went well, he would have been so discouraged if this went bad. “I love you too,” it’s said with confidence. “We should call Alice.”

 

"I think you should shut up and kiss me." Hey, that's a simple order.

 

He shrugs. That works too. There’s something so nice about kissing him Though Alan might tickle a bit. He’ll shave the beard off tomorrow, he’s decided. When he’s done, he offers a hand to Payne, ready to take him to their usual spot for the night.

 

He accepts the hand firmly and finds his mind drifting as Alan tugs him to bed for the night.

_Never in a hundred years would I have seen this coming. Really, I must have been blind. I never thought I'd be able to feel this deeply again. Not after Mona. Not after my wife and my baby girl. But I'm here. I'm safe. I'm loved. What kind of story is that for a man whose name is pain?_

"I'm not positive that this isn't a hallucination, just so you know."

 

Alan tugs his shirt of and digs around for sweatpants, wanting to get comfortable. “It’s not, I promise. I think,” he makes a face. “Scratch is probably listening to us through the wall. So you want to stay on the couch?” He’s more interested in not being overheard.

 

"What, you're not going to let me pass out right away?" His dry humor- GOD, that humor. He tugs off his shirt after fumbling with the buttons, hanging up the suit jacket and deciding the shirt is clean enough to save. Old bullet scars grace his back like medals of honor.

 

“I figured We’d watch some TV, but like I said...” He looks to the wall. “I’m paranoid about him. He’ll know about this somehow. And I’m not going to really want to deal with it.”

 

"Okay." He agrees instantly, understanding. He slips his shoes and pants off and tugs on old sweatpants bearing the NYPD logo on them. God knows how long he's had those. He then grabs a loose t-shirt and slips that on. All better. A nasty scar on his forearm is another testament to just what he's done in his life.

 

“Are you scared?” He asks suddenly. “What the media will do? This is going to happen soon,” he neglects sweatpants and goes for boxers instead, deciding to be super comfortable. He waits for Payne to settle in before he follows, willing to be a little spoon tonight.

 

"I'm not scared." Max PAYNE? Scared of something like the MEDIA? Bah. He plops down on the couch and settles in, waiting on Alan to join him.

 

He pulls the blanket off the top of the couch and makes sure it’s over both of them. He flips on the TV, turning on Netflix. “Oh, they have Night Springs,” he mumbles, flipping through the episodes. “Want to watch mine?”

 

"Yes. It's the best damn episode in the entire series." He kisses the side of Alan's face.

 

“You’re only saying that to be nice,” he switches it on, hearing the narration. “They should have gotten someone more...interesting to play the Champion. I was never impressed with this guy’s acting...”

 

"Really? I think he's pretty handsome." He murmurs this absently.

 

“He could have delivered better,” he’s tired, he’ll mumble a little longer before he falls asleep. He’s rambling about the episode, pointing out inconsistencies, things he doesn’t like, If he should have done something different. Eventually, though, he falls asleep. They have a very big day tomorrow.

 

He falls asleep curled up with Alan, an arm draped over the writer and his head tucked against the taller man's back. He's out like a light in no time.


	3. Chapter 3

Morning comes and Payne is awoken to the smell of bacon and eggs. And coffee, thank God. Alan is at the stove, dressed and awake. He’s finishing up the morning after engagement breakfast, in a pleasant mood after last night. it’s refreshing, he’s not up at noon today.

 

Payne groans and rolls over onto his stomach, staying there with no intention of moving. His head is killing him. "Hmmmff...I think scratch drugged me..." He did no such thing.

 

“I knew I didn't trust his food,” plates ready, he joins Max on the couch, sitting on his legs and setting Payne’s plate on the coffee table. “We have to see Alice today. She doesn’t have much free time.”

 

He sits up and rubs at his forehead with a pained grimace. Heh. Pained. "Okay. When are we going over?"

 

“In an hour or so. Plenty of time to eat and get ready.”

 

"An HOUR?" He moves like a turtle. "Damn it, Alan." He laughs and reaches for the food.

 

“Like I said, she doesn’t have much time. It’s eight in the morning,” Alan is awake at 8 am? Who is this man, and where is Max’s fiancé?

 

He groans and shovels food in his mouth midway through the noise. This is obscene. This is torture. Ugh...too early.,

 

“Oh, hush,” he’s on a third cup of coffee already. “I’ll be driving and doing most of the talking. I’d look bad if I didn’t bring you with me. If she thinks she’ll be fine. We can come out today,” he’s pushing for it soon. He wants it to happen quickly.

 

"Today?" He rubs at his nose. "Okay. How?" He's finished breakfast. Time for coffee. He grabs the cup.

 

“I figured we’d go to the media ourselves. Provide photos so we don’t have ugly candids.”:

 

"What media organization are we going to? Do you have a favorite?" Ahh...coffee.

 

“Well, I haven’t been on the cover of People in a while...” he grins cheekily. “Of course, Out too. So far those are my choices.”

 

"People. Okay. Go big or go home..." Christ. That's a BIG one.

 

“Last time I was on there was when my books hit number one for a while,” he’s bragging, isn’t he? “And when I punched a reporter, they put me underneath a crying Jennifer Aniston.”

 

"Wow. Well, I've been in TIME, but never in People. This is going to be a first." The TIME piece was, of course, on Valkyr.

 

“Are you excited?” He asks.

 

"I'm nervous. Not scared, but nervous." Honesty is the best policy. "Why?"

 

“You look pensive, and I’m sure if your knee wasn’t in pain, you’d be shaking it,” Alan points out.

 

"This is a big jump, Alan. Come on. I'm not used to the spotlight like you are." He nearly growls the words over his coffee.

 

“We can wait...if you want. Take more time. I know a lot is happening at once,” he offers it to make sure Payne is comfortable.

 

"No. No, let's talk to Alice and go from there. She'll know best." Hah. It's true, though.

 

"Okay,” he nods. “I want to do this with you. I was very serious about last night,” he has Barry on ring duty as they speak, he is the best man, after all. Alan doesn’t have any other friends. “Eat up, get ready. I’ll drive. Put on your brace, too,” he didn’t ask, he’s serious about that.

 

"Ugh..." He huffs and stands up, then limps to the bedroom to get ready. He needs to look nice. He settles on the same suit as yesterday with a fresh shirt, no tie. Alan should be thankful. He slips the knee brace on before he gets his pants on. It makes him feel old, geriatric. He decides what stubble he has is not bad and settles for how he looks. It's him, after all. It will do.

 

“You look good,” Alan approves. He’s in a coat and a scarf to cover most of his face as usual. He doesn’t care the weather is still on the warm side. “You ready? Big day. I’m...confident.”

 

"Big day. Small steps. Alice first. Then the press." Short sentences. That means he's all business.

 

He dips the scarf a bit so Payne can see his mouth. “I love you. Let’s do this,” he’s so confident. He opens the door and peers out for Scratch before hustling to the elevator.

 

He follows, loyally and trusting, ready to face the absolutely bonkers with the man he ended up with. Somehow.

"There's no going back after this."

 

“I know,” he settles into the elevator. He looks good when he’s shaven. “I think we can do this.”

He slides his hands into his pockets and sighs, looking at max with a smile. The minute the elevator falls, he pulls his scarf back over his face and heads out of ther building to his green sedan, sliding in the drivers seat.

 

Fine. Alan's respectable car instead of Max's bloodstained...hell car. He slips into the passenger seat and buckles in, letting out a deep sigh. Why does he feel like he's going to his execution?

 

He turns on the radio, which, ironically, is playing War by Poets of the Fall. “Hey, relax. This will be fine. I promise. If I’m wrong, I’ll eat one of your ties.”

 

"Can I pick which tie you eat so you don't eat my favorite on accident? Or on purpose, because you would?" He knows Alan hates it. That specific one. Oh, yes. THAT one:

 

"Fine. If it makes you happy," he rolls his eyes. At least that's brightened the mood up a little bit. "Her office isn't far. Do want to rehearse what to say?"

 

"Hell no. I'll wing it and suffer for it later." That's the spirit, Max.

 

He smiles at that, not surprised. The drive takes about thirty minutes, and they’re lucky, she’s in her office. She’s not surprised to sere her ex husband, she still does his covers, after all, and general photography.

She’s looking over something when they arrive, turning around and greeting them both with a smile. There’s been an agreement to be civil despite what happened between them. Alan thinks she’ll never forgive him for sleeping with that reporter.

“Alice.”

“Alan, Max,” she eyes the stocky man a moment. “Can I help you?”

 

"Hi, Alice." This is always awkward. He forces himself through it with a grimace, something that passes as some semblance of a smile. This isn't his job alone.

"Alan did something stupid and needs to ask your blessing." Smooth.

 

“I know,” when she speaks, Alan’s eyes go wide. “Barry told me.”

Oh, well, that makes things easier, even if Alan’s now a bit peeved.

“You don’t need my blessing, you’re adults. If I had a problem I would have told Alan a year ago when you moved in.”  
Alan inhales finally.

“We’re coming out,” he says. “We don’t want backlash on your part. From the media,” a quick clarification, “We want to be sure you’d be alright.”

“The divorce was a long process but I lived,” she assures him. “Congratulations, you two.”

That went better than expected.

 

Wow, that went well. Max doesn't have much to add, but he looks amazed it went so simply. His smile is sincere and his posture is more relaxed.

"Thanks, Alice." He expected bitterness. Who wouldn't?

 

Alan looks at Max with probably the biggest look of relief that’s ever been on his face. He seems glad that she’s not going to be angry about it, though he IS surprised. Last thing both Max and Alan need is a huge blow out that makes things harder than they need to be.

“How are you planning on announcing it?” Alan wishes he wasn’t someone so big, it would make things a hell of a lot easier.

 

"We were going to go straight to the press. Alan's choice was People. Don't ask me why." His tone is just as monotone and flat as always.

“People, wasn’t that the one that-”

“Yes.”

“Oh,” she seems a bit confused, but she just nods anyway. “I’ll deal with whatever happens. So long as things don’t get out of control. Good luck, both of you.”

 

"Thanks, Alice. You're a doll." Old fashioned Max means that well. He smiles to her, sincerely, something he doesn't do very much anymore. "Any advice?"

 

“Don’t say anything stupid. Don’t let him say anything stupid,” she motions to Alan. “Knowing him, he’ll say the wrong thing and get his face plastered in an unflattering light again,” is she teasing him? probably.

 

Max isn't very talkative, but his scathing humor is not going to make him a media darling any time soon. "Noted." Simple, short, to the point. "Hey, Al." His joking fake Barry voice gets nice and loud. "We should take a honeymoon to Bright Falls." Max, NO.

 

“No,” both Alice and Alan say it at the same time, then glance at one another. There’s an awkward laugh, before Alan stands.

“Thank you. This means a lot to us,” He’s excited. A text from Barry means he’s gotten what Alan needs, and with a smile he stands. “We’ll see you soon, after the potential blow out,” Ohh, that’s a scary thought. 

“Goodbye, boys,” back to work she goes. She seems busy for the moment. They should leave now.

 

"Bye, Alice." Max wraps an arm around Alan's and pulls him towards the door. "What's the next stop? The People office, and hope they'll let us in?"

 

“I’ve been in hiding for years. I come out and want to speak since my divorce, they’ll be all over me. Especially when it’s something like this,” he covers his face with the scarf again, leading him out of Alice’s studio. “I am a celebrity, even if I’m B list. It’ll get them money.”

 

"Okay. I'm with you through this. Even if it is going to make my boss have an aneurism. I think it will look good for my psych profile, though. if I'm stable enough to have a relationship." He laughs, making a joke out of a bad situation. Like always.

 

Alan inhales, then heads to the car. “Okay.”

It’s a lot at once. There’s a big expectation out of the two of them for this, and Alan is somewhat pensive. He looks at Max again, glad he’s not spooked by both this and the proposal. He doesn't really know what to think.

The drive is slow. But the headquarters isn’t far off. He’s nervous, evident by how he keeps tapping the wheel. he even put his seatbelt on.

 

"Hey." Max reaches over and squeezes Alan's leg. "We've faced far worse than this."

 

“I know,” he nods, turning the corner. “Doesn’t mean I can’t be nervous.”

The New York publishing house for People is up ahead. Something in Alan’s gut churns, making him wonder if he’s making a mistake/ Not with Max, of course, but with this. He’s wondering if he should have waiting until after the wedding.

It’s too late now. He parks, the place is pretty busy. 

“You ready?”

 

"I'm ready." Max holds up the envelope with the pictures they agreed to give the press. Let's go." He takes a deep breath and gets out of the car.

 

Alan follows, but before he locks the car he tosses the scarf and coat in the driver’s seat. No sense in hiding himself. He leads they way into the building, the tall, shinning tower building a sense of baltophobia as it looms over them. Inhale. Exhale. In he goes.

Inside there’s a lot of chatter. People talking, TVs are on in a lobby, and there’s a welcome desk up front with a woman sitting pleasantly. She’s welcoming with her plump frame and incredibly well done make up, and the instant Alan approaches, she nearly screams. 

“MR. WAKE?” Almost like she doesn’t believe it. Everyone really DOES know him, it’s so awkward and uncomfortable sometimes. “How can I help you sir?” 

She pays no mind to Max. 

“I’d like to set up an interview.”

“OH, I know someone who would LOVE to talk to you. Just sit over there and I’ll call him down.”

 

Max is silent, Alan's shadow. He's good at that. He follows Alan to sit down, silent and still. He can wait. He is patient.

 

He leads Payne to the waiting area, a rather nice spot with leather couches and comfortable seating. He sits, silent, tapping his fingers together in thought. What the hell is he going to say? Does he flat out say it? 

Eventually, a portly man who barely comes up to Alan’s chest arrives, clapping his hands together in excitement. “Mr. Wake! Good to see you!” 

Alan squints a moment, but recognizes the reporter as someone he talked to a long time ago, back during talks of a movie deal for Errand Boy. That eventually fell through, but-

“I have something good for you,” Alan offers, then glances to Payne. “We need privacy, but I have something cover worthy.”

The man considers it. “My office is on the fourth floor. With me, gentlemen.”

This was easier than he expected.

 

Okay. Showtime. Payne stands, a silent and intimidating sentinel. Talk about scary. Height and gained weight aside, he's a killer. It shows.

He has absolutely nothing to say right now.

 

The man’s office is amazingly professional, and well designed. On his desk, a name card reads Erickson. He sits opposite and gestures to the seat on the other side of him.

“So... I assume this is for Return, the book everyone has been waiting for five years for?”

“That, and...Max?” It’s time for the envelope. He waits for Payne to offer it. “I know your magazine is for gossip. I’d like to spread my own.”  
Erickson eyes Wake. “What do you mean by that.”

“I’m engaged.”

“So soon after the divorce?”

“To him.”

“....Oh.” Erickson blinks at Payne, a little shocked. He doesn't seem bothered by it, just surprised anyone could reattach themselves to something. And...well, the story that ran on   
his divorce to Alice was somewhat...nasty. “You want to tell the country your gay?”

“Not gay,” he clarifies.

“A coming out story?”

“Exactly.”

Erickson pauses a moment, considering it. Alan looks to Payne, concerned about what he’s thinking of.

 

He decides to introduce himself and break the silence.

"Hi. Max Payne. FBI, narcotics division." He extends a hand. "I was the undercover DEA man that busted open the Valkyr case and the NYCPD officer that brought the empire crashing down."

 

“That was you!?” Of course it’s a well known case in this city. He breathes. “Alan Wake, coming out with the man who busted the Valkyr case...people will talk about that,” oh, he’s more interested in the popularity of this story. of course. “People will want to read that....put something about Valkyr, wake up some of the nostalgia...” Nostalgia?  
“Gentlemen. Keep pitching. Keep going...what else do you have?”

 

Nostalgia? Valkyr got his wife and child murdered. Valkyr took hundreds of lives. He scowls. He's not passing over pictures yet.

"Alan, what about the Alex Casey books and the inspiration?"

 

“Oh, right, he’s the inspiration for the Alex Casey novels.”

Erickson stares at Max. “This guy is Alex Casey in the flesh?”

“Something wrong?”

“I thought he’d be....thinner.”

Alan just blinks. “We also have photos-”

“How incriminating?”

“They’re NOT they’re just...photos of us together.”

“I see,” he leans back in his hair, then looks at Payne. “We would like to interview you both, if that would be alright.”

 

He huffs. The weight jabs don't bother him. He's old. He drinks. He's tired. Hell, he was the of man out on the force back then as the thin, athletic one, anyway. He holds his tongue. It would do no good right now.

"I don't know." Payne stares down Erickson, eyes narrowing. "I prefer to be interviewed by someone less round. Someone taller." Ouch. "And no, there is not a sex tape."

 

Alan snorts.

“Right. Well...I wont be writing this piece. A woman named Amanda Fletcher will be, she’ll be waiting on the two of you down stairs. If you can get there,” he points to the knee brace evident under Max’s pants. These two might end up in a brawl eventually. Unfortunately, Alan is already tugging Max along. 

“Thank you,” he might as well be the polite one, for now, anyway. 

“She’ll be waiting for you.”

 

"You little piece o-" He's tugged out by Alan before he can finish that sentence. "Watch your back." The warning is heavy, and the .45 is flashed as he's yanked out on accident. He has a permit for that thing, and a FBI badge on his hip. But that doesn't mean anyone should be comfortable with known loose canon Payne threatening them.

He might get in trouble for that later.

 

“If you’re going to kill him, wait until this is over, please,” it’s a simple request.

Right outside his office is what Alan assumes to be Amanda (how do these people get their news so fast?), a slim woman with brown hair and...very large eyes. Tehy’re a little offputting.

“Mr Wake, this way,” she leads them down the hallways to a smaller office, gesturing to the couch for both of them to sit. She then looks at Max. “Mr...?”

 

"Payne. P-a-y-n-e." Best to make sure that is spelled right off the bat. So far, so good. She seems a bit better.

 

She nods and jots that down. “What can you tell me about yourself, Mr. Payne?” She seems invested in him, Alan leans back, listening.

 

"I've lived most of my life on the Jersey side. I went through the academy with honors and became a NYPD detective at a very young age." Vague, but true. "I had a beautiful wife and a six-month old daughter."

 

“What made you decide to come in contact with Mr. Wake?”

 

"I didn't, actually." He glances to Alan, a faint smile crossing his face. "He came to me. After I was cleared of charges and freed from jail after the Valkyr shakedown, right as I was joining the NYPD again, he came to me and asked if I would be his source of information for a book. Not secrets, nothing like that. But if I would help him ground his work in the reality of law enforcement."

 

“And that started your relationship?” She’s prying for information. She’s rather pleasant to talk to.

 

"No. It started a working friendship." Max clarifies. "Alan was married. I was...struggling with the fallout of the murder of my wife and child. We met nearly four years from the day of their murder. It took a full year for the Valkyr case to die down enough for me to be released and back on the force for work. That's when he approached me."

 

“When did you decide this was what you wanted?”

 

"Lots of time passed. After Valkyr fell apart and I joined the FBI, Alan and I fell out of contact. I was living badly and not in any mood to change that, either, but Alan showed back up midway through the divorce and asked me if I'd go get dinner with him."

 

She looks at Alan. “YOU asked for him?”

“Why does that surprise everyone?” He doesn’t understand it. 

“How does it feel, being in your relationship?”

 

"I was surprised at first. I'm still surprised." How else should he even describe that? "I feel incredibly lucky, and like I was blind he was interested in me for a very long time."

 

“Are there any plans for the wedding?”

 

“Not that I know of,” he looks at Max. “It only happened last night.”

He feels comfortable. His hand slips on Max’s knee, glad he can be open here. 

“Anything else you’d like to add, Mr. Payne?”

 

That touch is a surprise. He has to remind himself it is okay now.  
"That Alice knows about this and supports it. We aren't going behind her back. Other than that...no."

 

She nods. “I think we have something here. Mr. Erickson wants me to call you when the cover will be published,” Ha, Alan was right. They’d make the cover.

“Thank you, Ms. Fletcher,” so professional. It’s been a while since Alan was in a good spotlight, after all. When all is said and done, she asks Alan a few questions, then gets him to sign a copy of The Sudden Stop before they leave. 

Everything seems to have gone fine.

“Something bad is going to happen now,” he says when they leave her office. “Things never go smoothly.”

 

On the way out, Max gives them the copies of the photos they both agreed on and slips out with Alan. The concern makes him huff.

"You're probably right. But at the same time I don't want to think about it."

 

He holds the door open and sighs. “I’m concerned this wont be as...kind, as we’re expecting. At the same time, it feels good that we got good publicity before bad. Hopefully we’ll be left alone now until the wedding,” wedding. Wedding. Wedding. He’s still processing.

 

"I don't know if I'm ready to set a date yet." Wedding. God. Wow. Max decides he's done hiding and takes Alan's hand on the way to the car. "But we're one step closer to heaven." 

Hah.

 

“I feel like that’s a pun,” he squints. “Not sure, though.”

Not having to hide is a relief. Alan feels completely comfortable (for once in his life) and he hates it has to break so he can get in the car. Though that doesn’t last long at all. 

“Barry dropped what I asked for at home. Hopefully we’ll avoid Mr. Scratch. Unless you wanted to go somewhere?”

 

"I can't think of anywhere, unless you can." Max is a bit overwhelmed right now. It is understandable why.

 

“Let’s go home and eat. Think a few moments,” he nods at that, deciding it’s the best choice for right now. Alan puts the car in reverse and drives out, heading towards the main road. “Thanks for doing this with me.”

 

"Thanks for picking me." Voicing that sounds weird, but it is...it is the truth. "I don't understand why, but...I am so glad you did."

 

“Would it make you feel better if I said I didn’t know why either?” He admits it slowly. “The divorce wrecked me. I messed up. I remembered working with you, and you know I don’t have friends, and it just...happened,” he eyes the steering wheel a moment when they pull to a red light. “Alice always said I was more in love with Alex Casey than I was with her.   
It was a joke, but...”

 

"Hah...I'm that magnetic, then. You wrote a whole book series about me." pleased with himself, he smiles widely, and sincerely.

 

“We have a lot to think about. Like, is this Payne-Wake, or Wake-Payne? Alan Payne sounds like it’ll turn into a meme,” the last thing he wants is to be a meme. “God, what are we doing?” He’s breaking into a laugh, something that sounds just a bit unhinged. “What am I doing? What is going on!” He pulls the car over abruptly, hands shaking on the wheel. 

Today has been a lot at once, and anxiety is rampant around them both. Wake is freaking out.

 

"Woah. Woah, there." Max realizes they're in the middle of a place they most DEFINITELY cannot be parked. He quickly gets out of the car and pulls out one of those removable police lights plainclothes cops have in their cars out and puts it on top of the vehicle and turns it on. He has his badge on his hip, too. They won't be getting ticketed.

"Hey, Alan." He knocks on the window, asking the writer to roll it down. His tone stays steady. "Maybe neither of us has to change a surname at all. You're a celebrity, right? You'll need yours. And mine is for work."

 

The anxiety attack is brief, He focuses enough to roll the window.

“Is there a problem officer?” The joke is weak and mumbled out. He’s staring at his hands, which are firmly on the wheel. Eventually his hands fall and he rolls back a moment, head lolling to the side. It’s an attempt to remain calm. 

“It’s not just that. What am I doing? Honestly?” He looks at Payne like he expects an answer.

 

"You're falling for a run-down, overweight middle-aged man, is what you're doing." Max makes the joke. "Get out of the car, citizen. I'm driving."

 

He doesn’t get out of the car, just more or less climbs over the center console and sits, blinking. There’s a lot going through his head right now. “What if you’ve made a mistake?”

 

Max pulls the light off the top of the car and slips in. He passes the light to Alan and buckles in before pulling out to drive home.  
"I didn't."

 

He spins the light in his hands, accidentally turning it on and jumping, startled. he fumbles until he has it shut off and tosses it into the back seat. “Are you sure? You know why she left me. What if it happens again?” All valid concerns.

 

"What if WHAT happens again? You sleeping with someone else?" He doesn't seem concerned.

 

He gestures. Yeah, he means that. “I sunk so low. I don’t know why I thought ‘interview at a bar at three in the morning’ would have been anything kosher,” he’s not freaking out anymore, just concerned. He still drinks at times, usually with Max, he doesn’t seem to trust himself.

 

"Alan, that wouldn't drive me away." Max states this really simply. "I'm not...really comfortable with an actual open relationship. As in you dating someone else. But if something happens, it's not going to break my heart. My sex drive isn't exactly high. You're younger than me. I wouldn't be surprised or upset." That's...kind of sad to hear that he thinks that way, but it's true.

"Besides, Alan. you know I'm an addict. You don't leave me because of it."

 

“That’s not what I meant, I don’t want to make that mistake again,” he exhales. “I don’t care about sex, I just...” Don’t want to mess up. “Let’s go home,” he changes the subject. “I want to work.”

 

"Okay." He drops it. But the low opinion he holds of himself is...striking, to say the least. It is also not surprising. The drive home is quiet and nervous but not uncomfortable. Soon enough, they're at the door and back home.

 

“I’m sorry,” he says abruptly when they get home. “I panicked. The book, coming out, the engagement, it’s a lot at once. Return is finally getting things going and good, GOOD things are happening and it doesn’t seem real,” like he’s in some...strange place? Hmmmmmm?

 

It would make sense if Max was trapped in the darkness, too, actually. He wouldn't notice. He's been there since the day his family was murdered.

"It's okay. I still love you. I'm here." He draws Alan into a hug.

 

The hug is probably what he needed. He doesn’t care what people say, he likes that Max is bigger, it means his hugs are nicer. He nods and breaks off, apparently calmed down for now. “Oh, Barry got them,” he points to the package on the table. “Want to see what he picked?” He means rings. Might as well take care of that now. He seems comfortable enough now to discuss it.

 

When the hug breaks, he nods in agreement. This is going to be interesting, especially since neither of them so much as looked into them. Trusting Barry with a task that delicate seems far-fetched to Max, but all of this really is. He's happy to go along for the ride.

 

Alan picks open the box and offers one of the ring holders, knowing he’ll either get his or Alan's in there. Might as well open them together. The rings are titanium, Alan spent a pretty penny on them, apparently. He makes a mental note not to ever give Barry his card again. 

He looks at Max, trying to gauge a reaction. “What do you think?”

 

"Wow." He studies the ring, impressed. "I...really like it." The color is nice, and also perfect for several reasons. He still has his old one, of course, on a chain that he occasionally wears It is the standard, traditional gold. The black suits him, not only for personality, but for life, and nodding to the fact he's not some pretty, perfect newlywed. It's surprisingly deep. And he clearly likes it quite a bit.

 

“Try it on,” he managed to get his. His is smaller, of course, Alan has those long, thin European fingers. His fits pretty well, he likes it himself. Barry did good.

 

He slips it on and wiggles his fingers. It fits perfectly and works extremely well. It also stands out because of that black leather coat he's so fond of.

 

“I like them,” he examines his in the light. “I think these are going to be great.”

He’s so pleased he grabs Payne by the chin, bringing him in for a rather pleased kiss. He’s in a better mood already.

 

The kiss brings him back down to earth. He smiles against it, letting it linger for a while. Just the chance to be close with someone again is more than he would have ever asked for.

 

He has to wonder what brought him here, Being a manic depressant, things are always constantly low, and the few highs he has are rare. He seems to be in one of those highs, though, especially when Max is around. 

“We have time to figure everything out,” he seems calmer now that they’re home, his minor spell is apparently over with. “We should celebrate.”

 

"Sure." He's down for that. "How do you want to celebrate? Bust out wine? Go out for a fancy dinner? I'm sorry to disappoint, but I HATE clubs."

 

“Wine is fine,” he has a bottle he’s been saving. “TV dinner and expensive wine. I’m the worst rich person I know,” he is quite terrible with his habits.

 

"You mean the best." It's right up Max's alley, after all. He slips off his coat and hangs it by the door, where Alan keeps his own.

He grins and grabs the glasses, apparently pleased that things aren’t so stressful now. He pours Payne a glass, sets a dinner in the microwave, then pours his own. “Aren’t you glad you have a man who can cook?” Yes, so nice he can use a microwave.

 

"Oh, yeah, of course. Look at you. So talented. So skilled." His sarcasm is so dry. He takes the glass, forcing himself to drink it like a normal person and not just throw the whole fucking thing down.

 

“I’m very skilled,” the dinner is done and he pops it out, setting it on the counter while he gets his ready. Such a simple life, he enjoys it a little too much. Once his is done he joins Payne, giving him a brief kiss before sipping his wine. God, the domesticity.

 

God, he wants to throw back that wine and go in for the whole bottle. The urge is in his head, and he's being urged to jump on it...but he holds firm. Not now. He can't ruin this day, not after everything that has happened. The kiss distracts him just long enough that he's able to refocus again.

"Okay. Let's enjoy your incredible cooking."

 

“So, when they let you back on the force,” more small talk. “Are you going to announce it or just wait for everyone to find out?”

 

"They'll already know, probably." Max slips into his seat and sets down his wine glass. "Like I said, I don't have friends. They don't exactly talk to me."

 

“They’re scared of you?” He asks, wondering how people could. He’s like a big soft bear around Alan, forgetting that Payne is...well, Payne. He gets the good side.

 

"Some of them." He's dangerous. They know it. "Others just know I'm bad luck. They don't want it rubbing off on them."

 

“I hope, when they see us married they might think different,” he doesn’t seem to be bothered by Max’s supposed bad luck. Alan has his own run with it, too. “You know, maybe it might make them more comfortable knowing you can be sweet and domestic.”

 

Max, currently wearing a shoulder holster with a .45 in it, plainly visible over his suit jacket, stares very quietly at Alan as if this were the best joke he's heard all day.

 

“Or you could PRETEND,” he sips more wine and picks at his starchy chicken alfriedo. “Anyway. More wine?”

 

"Yes, please." Watch out, Max Keep it under control. He picks at his food, but not with real distaste. He's just not that hungry.

 

He pours a second glad for both him and Payne, not minding getting a little drunk. He’s been debating a lot of things, mostly revolving around his own drinking. “I might go to an AA program, when everything is out and when I feel comfortable going outside again,” that’s an admission. “Not tonight, though. Soon.”

 

"You'd better not ask me to go with you." The warning is clear. Alan has been smart enough to not pressure Max about his addictions this far. The older man will flat-out refuse help, yet again.

 

“No, no. This is for me,” he’s rather Max go when he feels ready. “Maybe it’ll help the ‘block. I don’t know. It’s been a consideration I’ve been quiet on a long time.”

 

"If you go, you'll start getting all preachy about my habits." Is he really discouraging that? "You just finished a whole novel in two days. I think you're doing fine."

 

“No...why would I?” He’s concerned about how Max is talking. “I told you that wasn’t something I’m interested in,” he pours a bit more wine in his glass, somewhat offput by the response.

 

"Aw, Alan, think about it. You go to your meeting and you try to stop drinking and you come home to an alcoholic who abuses narcotics." He seems somewhat defeated.

 

“If it would upset you, I wont do it,” that’s very dangerous he’s giving in like that, but he doesn’t want to have a fight a day after his engagement. He had too many fights with Alice, suffice to say he’s paranoid about it.

 

"If you want to do it, fine. But I don't know how you'll stick to it around me." The honesty is depressing but scathing.

 

“I asked you to marry me, didn’t I?” He’s uncomfortable. “I’m sticking with it, even if things change. And things have to change with me.”

 

"Okay." He won't argue or push the issue. But how is Alan going to stay sober with alcohol around the house and a husband who's a drunk?

 

“I’m sorry,” he feels slightly defeated, not sure what to do now. His gaze goes on the wine, though all he does is fill his glass a little more, never letting it empty.

 

"No, fuck, don't be SORRY." Max sounds frustrated. "Just...I don't know how to keep my habits from hurting you."

 

“We’d work through it,” he shrugs like his simple answer was as easy as he says it was. “With Return coming out, I don’t want to cause problems. My first novel in years. I want it to look good. I want us to look good. The one with the face has to focus on that.”

 

"Okay. If you do it, I'll support you. I just...I don't know how I'm going to keep from tempting you." He continues to eat, sounding highly concerned.

 

“Tell me no. Keep the booze to yourself. Just...keep supporting me. It’s all I ask.”

 

"I'll try." That's all he can do, isn't it? "Alan, I...I made a mistake, though." Uh, oh. "I had been doing good but I bought more meds the other day..."

 

“Are you in pain?” He knows Max’s knee is bothering him. But he’d feel better if he was even just a little bit in pain.

 

"...Sure, Alan." The answer is given with a tired, feigned smile. "Sure. I am."

 

He sighs, not wanting to get into how he REALLY feels about it. He hates it, and he’ll never say out loud that the addiction is worrying him. It’s been a long time for Max, too. Instead he slides his hand over, taking Max’s in his. 

“As long as you’re okay,” Alan, that’s dangerous. Everything is so dangerous right now. He knows he can’t do anything about it.

 

"I'm okay." He's not. The way he says that makes it clear he isn't. But he's a damn good liar, and it is showing now.

 

“Okay,” Alan falls for it like a sucker. He’s not good at reading people, not really, so Max saying he’s okay...well, Alan believes him. He finishes his dinner and gathers the tray to go wash it so he can throw it in a recycler. “Do you want to just get drunk and pretend this conversation never happened?” He seems to be in favor of that.

 

"That idea sounds perfect." God, is he down for that.

 

He refills Max’s glass and leads him to the couch, turning on more Twilight Zone. He’s already a little bit groggy, but he’s never gotten too sick off wine. The bottle is set on the coffee table. “I like this idea better than talking about serious problems,” Jesus, Alan.

 

"Don't we all?" Max settles in on the couch, wine in hand. Getting drunk off of this feels ridiculous, but he can do it for once instead of something heavier.

 

“Mhmm,” he hums along with the opening credits, then glances at Max. “I like you.”

How much has he been drinking? He’s barely three glasses in.

 

"I like you too." Max is on his...third? Yes, third. And it is his first drink in two days, too. "A lot."

 

Alan is not exactly a heavy drinker, it doesn’t take much. His system, despite having been bogged by alcohol for a long time, it doesn't seem too tolerant. “Really? How so?’

 

Max is, and he can take a lot and still seem to be functional.

"You're handsome. And you write. Writers are dangerous, right?" He laughs at his own joke.

 

“The pen is mightier than the sword, blah blah blah, I hate that,” he waves his hand in the air and takes a drink. “We should play a game. Do you know how to play poker?” Alan no.

 

"Kind of." Good enough. "You're on." This is going to go horribly.

 

Alan doesn’t know how to play poker. Clearly, he has an alternative motive. He pulls the drawer on the coffee table and nearly throws a package of playing cards at Max. “Then you start,” That’s not how poker goes.

 

Max barely knows how. He fumbles for the playing cards and tries to open the pack, nearly spilling them everywhere. He shuffles them messily and distributes the cards one at a time until both have five. Looks like he's going for five card draw. He then places the deck in the center of the table.

 

He takes five cards as well. He has...no idea what he is looking at. He squints at Payne, before he sets his cards. “I...play? Is that what it’s called? I play,” he has no matching cards and nothing is the same color. He’s...probably lost.

 

"Shit, we forgot to put the bets in. Where are the poker chips? Do we even have poker chips?"

 

“We have clothes."

 

"What?" Max sounds genuinely confused. "Okay."

 

“Do your cards, what did you get?” This man is clearly hopeless.

 

"No, no, you either open, fold, call, or raise." He frowns in thought. "But I don't remember how it works. whatever." He pulls three cards out of his hand, slaps them face down on the table, and replaces them.

 

“Go fish?” He tries instead, raising an eyebrow. “Did I win? Have I won?”

God, Max’s fiancé is just...goofy when he’s drunk.

 

"Wrong card game, Alan." He slaps his cards down in no semblance of order. That's...not how you play poker.

“How do you play? When do I take my shirt off?”

 

"...Now. you take your shirt off now."

 

He slips off the black tshirt no problem. “Okay. What do I do next?” He’s a nice lean. It’s pretty great to look at. “Do I draw a card now?” He really doesn’t know shit about poker.

 

"Flip your cards over. Then draw five." This isn't how this works at all.

 

He does as told, frowning at his new deck of cards. “I don’t...Um...” he eyes the ace and sets it on the table. “Is that good?”

 

"Wow, that's pretty good." Max pretends to be impressed, and then takes a drink. "What does that mean?, though?"

 

“I take off my shoes?” He suggest, believing Payne knows what he’s doing and is here to guide him.

 

"...Yes."

 

He kicks his shoes off, and his socks, then squints at his cards. He draws another to bring himself back up to five. “Go fish.”

 

"Shit." Payne draws some cards randomly. "Well, I guess you win this round." He slips of his suit jacket and tosses it aside. He's doing everything he can to not laugh himself to tears.

 

“I win!” What did he win? “I have an eight,” he puts the card down- eight of spades.

O...okay. He frowns. "Damn!" Off goes the tie. Does that count as clothing?

 

“You have more clothes than me,” he makes an astute observation. “That’s not fair.”

His belt is coming off anyway. But he didn’t lose? He probably doesn’t care anymore. All he has left is his pants. Max could corner him here.

 

Max narrows his eyes and draws another card. "Well, shit." Off goes the shirt, although it takes him a second, because buttons.

 

“I’m confused about the rules,” he eyes Max, somewhat concerned. “Do I go next?” He reaches for Max’s wine, his is gone.

 

Max grabs his wine and finishes it off, leaving none for Alan. He sets the glass down.

"Yes."

 

Jeans are fumbled off and thrown on the floor. He eyes Payne a moment, at first looking irritated at the wine, then shrugging. “What do you do when your clothes are off?”

 

"I don't know." He laughs now, unable to help it.

 

“I think, and I’m just guessing here, but I think neither of us know how to play poker.”

 

"I think you're right." He states this with a small nod.

 

“Wanna play something else?” He joins Max now, not quit on top of him, but close enough to bring his face very, very, very close. His breath smells like alcohol and he can barely keep his eyes open.

 

"I think we're too...eheh...too drunk." He nuzzles his face against Alan's with a laugh.

 

He doesn’t seem interested in anything beyond a kiss. That works well for them, especially for Alan, who’s still coping with some of his illicit activities he’s done drunk. Besides, they’re celebrating. When the kiss breaks he pats Max’s face, humming. “Mhmm.”

 

"Mmhm?" As if trying to confirm what he heard, he squints and stares Alan down.

 

“Hmm? Oh,” he reeeeaches over Max for the wine bottle (there isn’t much left), and he’s torn between giving it to him or drinking the rest of it himself. “We should go to bed,” he drunkedly declares, looking like he might pass out any moment.

 

"We could just sleep here. We might not make it to bed." He has a point.

 

He kisses Payne again, distracted a hot moment. “Okay,” he pops the cork off and finishes off the bottle, setting it rather hard on the coffee table. He doesn’t seem to care if he accidentally scratches or cracks the glass surface. “OOoookay.”

 

"C'mere." He tugs alan down with him, holding him close. "You stupid bastard."

 

“Mhhm,” he falls into his arms, touch he seems to be a little distracted. Mostly with Max’s face, which he’s currently giving very sloppy kisses to.

 

"I really do love you, you know." He clarifies this with a murmur and runs fingers through Alan's hair.

 

Alan mumbles something akin to “Love face”, but it’s about the same thing. The drunk writer is focused on his jaw, peppering his face. He’s a hell of a lot more affectionate this way. Eventually, he follows up with an “mhmm.”

 

"Mmhm." He murmurs this and hugs Alan against him, keeping the younger man close and intending to do so for the night. "Even if you're kind of stupid."

 

Alan giggles a moment, a silly noise. Him, stupid? He’s a writer, thank you very much. Alan’s phone is ringing, and of course it’s the only person who has his number. He neglects it.

 

"What does Barry want now." He whines and reaches for Alan's phone on the table, planning to answer it drunk.

 

Alan takes the phone from him and chucks it, not caring. His focus...drunk focus, is on Max. The phone hits the wall hard and leaves a bit of a dent, nothing he can’t fix. “Barry’s not invited right now.”

 

"Okay." He kisses Alan on the forehead and snickers. "Fuck off, Barry Third Wheel."

 

“Hehe, Barry Third Wheeler,” he wheezes like that’s the funniest joke he’s ever heard. “I’m tired,” no shit. He’s barely conscious.

 

"I'm exhausted." He snickers, finding this somehow hilarious. How is being tired funny?

 

“Sleep with me?” Why is he asking? Alan can’t think straight. And the next thing Payne knows, he’s passed out on top of him. He snores when he’s drunk, he’s loud, but it's somewhat adorable.

 

Payne mutters something that can't quite be understood and passes out shortly after, one arm around Alan and the other hanging off the couch. S n o r e.


	4. Chapter 4

The morning brings a hangover and an irritation. The light flittering in from the windows is bright, and that’s what’s waken Alan up. He stirs, sliding out of Max’s arms and landing face first on the tile floor. With a groan, he’s crawling to the bathroom.

 

"Can ya not stand up'r nothin'?" His words are slurred and pained. "Urgh...fuckin' headache from hell..."

 

He manages to get into the bathroom and lift himself up to the sink. Painpills. Located right where he needs them. “Lost my legs,” he calls, checking out his bloodshot eyes. How late were they up?

 

Hopefully what Alan grabbed aren't the narcotics Payne hides.

"What time is it...? I can't see the clock."

 

Alan checks his watch.

"It's a little past noon. We overslept," he grumbles, not pleased to be awake. He was so blissful and at peace in his sleep. Thankfully, Alan just has some over the counter stuff. He doesn't know where Payne's stash is.

 

"Thankfully we have nowhere to be. Right?" He hopes they don't. Hey, look. He's still wearing that ring. He holds up his hand and studies it with a squint. "Why am I half naked?"

 

"You tell me," Alan is in nothing but boxers. He hasn't removed his either, it feels comfortable there. "I think we tried to have sex. All I remember was getting drunk." He rubs his face, exhausted.

 

"I remember poker, I think...? But I don't know how to play poker...?"

 

"Neither do i," he groans and rejoins Max on the couch. He slips the larger man's arm around him, content in going back to sleep. "You have work soon." 

He said it like he's warning him this won't last long.

 

"Not today I don't. They haven't told me one way or another whether I even GET my job back." Sad, but true. Max draws Alan in, content to play body pillow right now.

 

"But when they do," he seems confident. "I'll miss you," he says it like he'll never see Max again. "Then I'll be stuck here with myself. Or Barry," or Scratch, if he's desperate enoigh.

 

"I'll be home most nights. You can write while I'm at work." Payne generally stays in New York City, but have drugs, will travel. He'll take on anyone necessary, or so it seems.

 

"'Most'," He's just making a big deal to be an asshole. He sniffs a moment, then forces himself up. "I have to write," someone's forgotten he's already finished Return.

 

"Yes. You have to write. But what's next?"

 

A pause. "The idea I brought up. The time traveler. I write that. I should start sooner than later," Alan Wake publishing two books in one year? A feat.

 

"Ah, right, the time traveler. That one will be good." He has faith. The concept sounds like a good one, too.

 

"Mind starting some coffee?" He asks before he fishes his shirt off the ground and fumbles to his office. The moment he sits down he fiddles with the ring, trying to find a starting point.

"What if, instead of the elite security guard, he was a human vampire hybrid?" He's joking. Mostly.

 

"That sounds ridiculous." Max, having stumbled into the kitchen, gets the coffee going. "Stick with the human. Don't go there."

 

"I figured it would get the kids excited," he doesn't where that came from. He starts typing, forming words on the page, talking to himself.

 

"Are you writing for a younger audience now?" Married to a young adult author? Can he live with that? Hah. Joke.

 

"Naaah, no, but I might consider that for a horror novel. That'll be a lot of research though," tap tap tap. CHING! "I actually got an idea for a spin off Alex Casey novel. All these ideas are pouring in and I can barely focus enough right now on the story I do have put together," he's excited. He's been in that block for a long time. Maybe his excitement about the engagement is helping. "I'm just...elated. Really."

 

"What's the spin-off?" He is genuinely curious. He enters the office and sets down a cup of coffee for Alan before kissing him on the side of the head and sitting down, still half-dressed.

 

"I haven't really put the thought to paper yet," he's writing as he talks. How dangerous. "But it would be back in that genre, maybe follow some minor character I wrote in. Or write a prequel. Something, I don't know, I just got so much I have to jot down," his excitement is almost contagious. It's hard to think he's suffering from a hangover.

 

"A PREQUEL? Are you going to drag me out of the grave?" He laughs once, a sharp and bitter sign he's not fond of the idea.

 

"I'm just spit balling. Calm down," CHING. "If anything, it wont happen. But the idea is there," CHING. "Shit," he just wrote what he was speaking. He sighs, tears out the page, but he offers it to Max to read before he retypes it. Why the hell does he use a typewriter anyway? Oh, right, because he's pretentious.

 

Pretentious dickhead. Max reads it, frowns in approval, and passes the messed up page back.

"Okay."

 

He is a pretentious dickhead. 

"What if I went back to college and get a real job?" Again with the job thing. Someone isn't too keen on staying bored at home. He tosses that idea and writes another sentence.

 

"What in the world else would you do? You love writing."

 

"I don't know," he pauses. "That's the point right? It's all open," he shrugs, then looks at Max. "You aren't embarrassed by that? I stay at home and stare at a typewriter. Daily."

Max has asked him the same question. But he can't help but wonder.

 

"No. Writers are important. That, and you make more money than I ever have." He grins. "So clearly you are doing something right."

 

"Apparently so. I do like having money," he lives a simple life but he's able to pay for it all no problem. He enjoys it, his apartment is proof of that. He tip taps a few times more, then stops and glances at Max. "You make good money as a cop, right? I never bothered to think about that."

 

"I made the most as undercover DEA, but you know how THAT went." His smile is wry. "As NYPD I made a comfortable salary. I make more now as a Fed than I did NYPD. But I had to pay legal fees, hospital bills, and ended up being sued several times, so...more legal fees." Well.

 

"...Do you still have those bills?" Alan can pay them. It's been a long time, but... "Anyway, I think I'll work for a few more hours. If you want to run errands. I have some things I need mailed, and there's some other stuff if you want to be busy," he knows Max is bored. He feels bad.

 

"I paid them myself. Hence where you found me living." Ouch...that must have hurt him. "Sure. I'll run around and play errand boy." His joke is meant well. He stands and takes his empty coffee cup with him.

"I'm going to shower. Then I'll head out." He pads out and to the kitchen. He leaves the coffee cup by the sink and heads to get ready for the day.

 

"Everything's on the kitchen counter!" he calls out as he resumes typing.


End file.
